


Pay to Play

by occasional_boy_reporter



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Autobots are very unprofessional, Consensual Sex with Prisoner, Crack, F/M, Fisting, Handcuffs, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sexual Frustration, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dubcon?, ironic punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasional_boy_reporter/pseuds/occasional_boy_reporter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of Knock Out's outrageous interfacing habits, Megatron gives his CMO a special mission; seduce an Autobot and bring back worthwhile information or don't bother returning to the Nemesis.<br/>Knock Out's game. Until he discovers the Autobots are not the shy, little prudes he thinks they are. NOT AT ALL.</p><p>Sexy crack that borders on cannon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I flipping love Knock Out.  
> This work could also be titled 'KO takes it like a Champ/Chump.'

   Knock Out taps a single pointed digit against his thigh as he ponders. It isn’t that he is nervous. Except that perhaps he is just, perhaps, a teensy bit.

   Certainly, he’s been called to the bridge of the Nemesis many times. But today, there is a particular terseness in Megatron’s commed summons and the space beyond the bridge’s massive door is giving off a certain…vibe.

 His comm pings again. There’s another warning sign. Megatron tends to message a bot only once. Primus and Unicron combined help any Decepticon who doesn’t deliver their aft promptly. And yet, here is Knock Out with a line of messages each bearing the simple command to…

  **_/report to bridge/_**

   No punctuation.

   No capitalization.

   Scary.

   “Well,” Knock Out reasons aloud, “better to face it now than let Megatron come looking for you. Roll in like you own the place.”

**********

   Knock Out enters the bridge with every ounce of swagger he possesses and pauses just shy of the glaring overhead lights, because down lighting is so unflattering. He waits at the perfect angle (practiced tirelessly in front of a mirror and intended to show off the polished lines of his frame) to await the announcement of his arrival.

   Of course, the effect is completely lost on all the bridge’s occupants who remain with their dorsal plating resolutely turned toward Knock Out’s perfectly polished entrance. None of the Vehicons even bother to announce him.

   Knock Out glares at the nearest Vehicon before coughing pointedly into his shapely fist.

   The Vehicon (Knock Out refers to all of them as That One or You There) cocks his head for a moment. Realization dawns on the trooper and he sort of grunts before turning back toward his appointed control panel.

   “He’s here,” the Vehicon calls in the most offhanded way possible.

   Knock Out’s beautiful plating bristles dangerously. _HE?_

 _HE_ has a perfectly good, and extremely befitting, designation. Just as he opens his mouth to lay some hurt on That One…

   “Knock Out.”

   Knock Out is admittedly caught off guard by Megatron’s voice cutting off his dialogue but he plays it cool.

   “Lord Megatron.” Knock Out bows low, a fraction of an inch lower than usual to make up for his tardiness.

   “Why are you only now heading my summons?” There’s a hint of something carefully contained in Megatron’s voice.

   Megatron turns from whatever was so interesting at the front of the room to focus some attention on Knock Out. Soundwave is next to his Lord looking as inscrutable as always. But Starscream is there as well, a slag-eating grin plastered across his face. And while that is not unusual in the slightest, it causes Knock Out to hold his bow just a beat longer. Something is brewing here.

   “My apologies, Lord Megatron.” Never hurts to bow again, so Knock Out does. “Things have been rather busy in the medbay today.”

   “Busy…indeed.”

   Knock Out absolutely hates when Megatron draws out his words like that. It leaves an unsettling feeling in one’s spark.

   “Soundwave here has kept me aware of the state of our medbay.” Megatron gestures to Soundwave.

   _Oh goody, go fall in a pit of Scraplets_ , Knock Out thinks in the communications officer’s direction but his smile never wavers.

   “Tell me, Knock Out. Is this how a professional deals with patients?”

   With a nod from Megatron, the ship’s front viewports are converted to image relays and a rather spicy clip plays for all present to see.  Knock Out raises a single finger to make a statement of denial because, after all, that could be anyone beneath Breakdown with their legs splayed on either side of the former Wrecker’s hipplates. This is when Soundwave’s clip provides a bit of background noise.

_**“Say my name!”**_

Ok, so Knock Out can admit that sounds a little bit like him but it could be ANY mech mid-passion. Until video Breakdown opens his big, metal trap _._

_**“Ah! Ah, Knock Out!”**_

   Real Knock Out bites a single knuckle as if thinking before raising it back up in light of a triumphantly good excuse. “Well, I-“

_**“Again!”**_

**_“Knock Out! Ah! Knock Out, I’m so close!”_ **

   “You see, Lord Megatron. We were just-“

_**“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not on the finish, Breakdown!”**_

“ALRIGHT I GET IT!” Knock Out finally flails in defeat. It’s not that he’s ashamed but there’s no need to give every Vehicon on deck a free show. Some of them pay handsomely for that.

   Video Knock Out offers one last passionate sigh before he grabs a polishing cloth and gives the far-off look of a mech checking their comm log.

               ** _“Slag. Old Megs has been calling me to the bridge. Better make this quick, Breakdown. Just buff the highlights.”_**

Knock Out’s beautiful posture is somewhat resigned by the time Soundwave cuts the feed. He is so thoroughly fragged. Maybe even moreso than video Knock Out. No wonder Starscream’s wings have been twitching in glee since Knock Out entered.

   “So, I repeat, Knock Out; Is this how you ‘treat’ patients?”

   It’s a trap and Knock Out is intelligent enough to see it as such. It’s a shame he doesn’t act accordingly.

   “To be fair, my Lord, Breakdown is my assistant. Not a patient.”

   Megatron doesn’t raise a single optic ridge as he motions to Soundwave. The viewports are lit with another clip. This time, unmistakable, video Knock Out is caught firmly between two easily forgettable Vehicons. Primus! These clips could go on forever if they were going to feature foot soldiers too.

  Knock Out warms up his vocalizer which has constricted at some point. “Ah, well, they were in for a routine inspection...”

  “And therein lies the problem, Knock Out. Routine." Megatron motions to Soundwave and the feed is mercifully cut off. Mercifully because Knock Out is pretty sure he recognises that particular tryst and seems to remember two more Vehicons make a guest appearance at some point. Megatron continues unaware of Knock Out's thoughts. "These are merely two samples pulled from hundreds of instances-"

_There’s only ‘hundreds’? Seems a little low._

   “-all recorded by Soundwave.“

_Pervert, Voyeurbot_

“Knock Out, your outrageous interfacing habits are a distraction to my entire crew. Soldiers walk into your lab with no malfunctions and leave looking like they’ve been run over by Optimus Prime!”

   “But with a kind of glow,” the CMO quips.

   “I AM BEYOND YOUR GAMES, KNOCK OUT!”

   Knock Out flinches, along with the entire crew on the bridge. Because when Megatron shouts, you see bits of your life flash before you optics.  And when Megatron closes in on Knock Out, the CMO is torn between cowering and simply turning tailpipe.

  “You distract and exhaust my troops. You burn through our precious energon supply.”

   Knock Out lowers himself, eager to interject and stall Megatron’s wrath. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Lord Megatron.”

   “Oh no, you mistake me as one who forgives so easily.”

   Knock Out’s plating clenches. It is easy to forget exactly how large the Decepticon leader is when you’re watching him lay waste to enemy forces across a battlefield. But when the heated vents raining down on you are not enough to warm the chill cast by a single mech’s shadow, it is easy to remember that Megatron was a gladiator before his life became even more brutal. And Megatron has annihilated mechs five times Knock Out’s size. After a moment of agonizing scrutiny, Megatron speaks.

   “I shall allow you to earn your place aboard my warship.”

   “My Lord?”

   _Banished? I'm banished? Certainly it’s a step up from deactivated or doomed to float through space but getting kicked off the warship???_

 _“_ Think of it not as punishment but a mission,” Megatron practically purrs and Starscream is in the background squirming with glee. “A mission that you will courageously undertake alone.”

   All fake magnamity. Lies. A punishment masquerading as a mission. Primus! What kind of mission can this be? Megatron is going to ask for Prime’s head on a platter, isn’t he?! A mission Knockout will never complete. Knock out will be doomed to wander the surface of the filthy little planet like some organic native.

_I’d better grab some extra energon on the way out. Too bad I can’t bring Breakdown. But I’ll need a pair of eyes on the Nemesis just in case. I’ll just take one of the smaller buffers, Unicron help me!_

"HAS ALL THAT INTERFACING BLOWN OUT YOUR AUDIALS?” Megatron suddenly thunders. Apparently, Knock Out's desperate planning has caused him to miss some of Megatron's tirade.

   Knock Out has the sense to look repentant without opening his mouth this time. Megatron sighs in a weary gesture that the medic is no stranger to.

   “I believe the punishment should fit the crime in this instance. Your mission, Knock Out, is to use your unique set of skills to bring me Autobot intelligence.”

   Knock Out’s processor stalls in a most fabulous fashion.

   “Do you mean to tell me-“

   This is the point where Starscream utterly loses it, going so far as to lean against Soundwave when his demented, high pitched giggling becomes too much for the seeker’s frame to handle.

   Knock Out shoots the seeker a death glare but saves his breath to address the fuming warlord in front of him. “Lord Megatron, you want me to...to seduce an…an AUTOBOT for information?” Knock Out cannot help but sputter at the concept. Not that Knock Out doubts his interfacing prowess, it’s just that, well, Autobots are known prudes and a proper seduction could take considerable time. It feels important to have absolute clarification.

   “Knock Out, I don’t care if you bring an Autobot back here squirming on that over-buffed spike of yours! Go down to the surface and don’t come back without some information that’s of use to the Decepticon cause!”

   That’s pretty confirmed.

   Starscream’s intakes stutter as he chokes on his own mirth.

   _The winged slagger._

   Megatron leans down to crowd Knock Out’s personal space. “Your groundbridge will be opening shortly, I suggest you gather any _equipment_ you may need.”

   Knock Out bows beautifully though the whole time his processor computes nothing but _frag, frag, fraggity, frag!_

“You’re dismissed. Oh! And Knock Out, I expect results quickly given your level of experience.” Only then do Megatron’s sharpened teeth appear in the perfect likeness of a Sharkticon grinning before it makes a kill.

   The moment Knock Out exits the bridge doors, he has his partner in crime on the comm.

   **_/ **BREAKDOWN** , pack up some energon and a buffer to go. I’ve got one PIT of a problem!/_**

  

  


	2. Bumblebee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out finds his first potential ticket home while doing a bit of late night street racing. Lucky Knock Out!...or perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, everyone! 200 hits in a single day. Who knew Knock Out was so popular? Oh, wait! He's freaking Knock Out! Feel free to keep those hits, comments, or kudos coming. They are fuel for authors.

   Knock Out's finely tuned engine roars as much in aggravation as in challenge to the race vehicles on either side of him. Three miserable sun cycles he's spent on this dusty planet with not so much as a glimpse of Autobots! How in the Pit is a bot supposed to seduce the enemy if there is no enemy?

   You'd think Megatron would be nice enough to point him in the right direction. But dumping Knock Out unceremoniously on a packed dirt road, not even a proper paved roadway for Pit’s sake, was just another petty piece of the punishment.  Not only is he stranded with not so much as a barbaric roadmap, but his comm line to the Nemesis has been ruthlessly shut down. Even Breakdown is not responding to their usual, direct line.

   Knock Out has toyed with the idea of _summoning_ the Autobots. If he were to cause a small ruckus at a densely populated area, surely the whole team would show up. But the point isn't to fight the whole fragging team, just FRAG ONE OF THEM!

   But Knock Out is confident one will show up eventually. Autobots have that uncanny ability.  So in the meantime, Knock Out races each night. 

   _Might as well enjoy the brighter side of exile._

   Knock Out smirks. If you can even call leaving these so called sports cars in the dust racing.

   The organic holding the flag seems to hesitate and Knock Out revs his engine to encourage her to get on with it already. The cause for delay appears in Knock Out’s rear view mirrors, the approaching headlights nearly blinding his view.

   A quaint, yellow muscle car with black detailing pulls up to the race line.

_Well hellooo~ uncanny, little Autobot!_

   Bumblebee! Knock Out could not ask for a better choice in Autobot target. Bumblebee is young compared to most every other Cybertronian stationed on this planet and excessively eager to prove himself in any challenge.

   _What sweet, easy manipulation this will be!_

   Bumblebee seems to have somehow missed Knock Out's presence in the lineup. From his spot two cars down, the Decepticon CMO notes the Autobot's tinted windows never lower. Nor can Knock Out sense the heat of a tag along organic in Bumblebee's frame. No human pet tonight.

   _Naughty little Autobot out racing all alone. Tsk tsk!_

   Knock Out is so engrossed in his assessment of the Autobot that he misses the drop of the racing flag and only takes off in the response to the roaring engines around him.

   Bumblebee weaves almost gracefully between the other racers to slip into the lead. This is obviously not his first time at such an event.  Knock Out's senses are primed on the muscle car. Everything else is in the way.  He takes out the polished blue Lamborghini next to him with a gentle nudge that sends it into the tree line in the first turn. Knock Out briefly bemoans the tarnishing of such a beautiful paint and wax but, really, humans ought to learn their place when it comes to road supremacy.

   Knock Out crowds another racer off the road and roars into the wide open space behind Bumblebee. His presence and exact identity are now painfully obvious and the Autobot responds with appropriate caution.  Bumblebee keeps a tight bead on his Decepticon pursuer, drifting one way then the next to prevent Knock Out from pulling even and finding the opportunity to run him into some hazard. At these speeds, any little contact can turn ugly.

   Knock Out's chuckle echoes over his leather interior. Quite a game this is turning out to be! But if there are two things Knock Out excels in, they are interfacing and racing- he's decent medically, but really, those two other things are his forte.

   Bumblebee falls for Knock Out’s feint to the left allowing the red car to slip forward and nudge the Autobot’s bumper from the right. Bumblebee fishtails with a spectacular screech of tires but nothing can save him from smashing through the guardrail and tumbling down the steep embankment into the wooded area below.

   Knock Out transforms without ever slamming on the breaks and vaults over the guardrail to follow his prey.

   Bumblebee's headlights provide quite a light show as he rolls. Halfway down the embankment, Bumblebee manages to transform into his root mode and dig fingers into dirt slowing his descent from deadly to simply dizzying. Little good it does him when Knock Out purposefully tackles him down the last fourth of the hill.

   They land in a crunch of metal that can mostly be attributed to Bumblebee's armor and the scout's horn goes off in a mix of pain and indignation.

   Knock Out has somewhat intentionally, somewhat miraculously, come out of the tackle with nothing more than slight paint transfer and sits exactly where he wants to be- atop the cute, little Autobot's frame.

   "Well! Fancy meeting you here!" He drawls in mock surprise.

   Bumblebee is unappreciative of Knock Out's humor and assaults the Decepticon with a flurry of angry beeps and clicks as he struggles to bring his weapons online.

   "Nah uh uh," Knock Out croons as he wrestles the Autobot down. He's not much bigger than the yellow scout but Knock Out imagines he has more experience with horizontal grappling.

   Still Bumblebee manages to slip a hand free and deliver a sharp blow to Knock Out's shoulder guard.

   "Ow!" Knock Out spits angrily as he wrestles the limb back under control. _Prime to the Pit this is one slippery Autobot!_   "Would you knock it off?! I'm not here to fight you!"

   More angry clicks and whistles.

   Knock Out rolls his eyes at the melodramatic whining and rears back just in time to avoid the Autobot's sloppy head-butt. "Of course I ran you off the road. How else was I supposed to talk to you?"

   A confused whistle. Bumblebee's pinned shoulders squirm under Knock Out's hold but the scout does calm considerably. At least enough that Knock Out can release pressure on Bumblebee’s weapons and explore other nearby parts of his frame.

   Bumblebee’s response is a forceful blurt of surprise resulting in a totally unintelligible “blooo~URP!” when Knock Out toys with his headlights.

   Knock Out finds the lack of intelligent response rather endearing. “I thought maybe we could do something a little different tonight. Get to know each other in less violent ways." Knock Out's clawed fingers trail an insinuating path down Bumblebee’s torso.

   The yellow mech grows very still until Knock Out traces the outer curve of a hip panel and Bumblebee shudders with a rattle of plating and stalling engines. His vocaliser spits static even more unrecognizable than his usual base Cybertronian.

   Knock Out tries not to grin like a slagging glitch. He fails miserably.

   "How about it, Bumblebee?" He uses the Autobot's designation for the first time and makes sure to run his mouth over every syllable.

   For his part, Bumblebee can do nothing but tremble and emit an almost whining sigh. Knock Out gently withdraws his questing hands. Apparently his sweet touches are too much for the Autobot to process!

_All according to plan. Time to go in for the kill._

   ...so to speak.

   "Well, Bumblebee? Care for a little expert consulting?"

   Bumblebee's optics widen in query. One puzzled beep.

   Knock Out's optic ridges hitch upward.

   "What do I mean? You're kidding right?"

   An indignant click.

   "You know. Slag and defrag. Maintaining the lower half...flushing your coolant...swapping paint?"

   Nothing but wide, blue optics and a gentle shrug of confusion from Bumblebee.

   "You cannot be serious!" Knock Out snaps incredulously. There's no way the Autobot scout is THAT young. "The universal pastime? Fragging? I'm talking about interfacing!"

   Bumblebee's vocalizer bubbles with soft clicking- a laugh- then a sly series of whistling beeps.

   "Begging!" Knock Out nearly screeches in his effrontery. "I never begged you to do anything!"

   An almost sympathetic whistle.

   "I am not desperate!" Only a slight lie on Knock Out's part. It has been three days and his polish is slightly less than perfect but he isn’t exactly ready to throw in the proverbial towel. Suddenly, any charge that Knock Out had worked up during the chase is struggling to remain in the face of the Autobot's cheekiness.

   _Fraggit! I am still in charge of this seduction, brat!_

   "Maybe you still don't understand what I'm offering you." Knock Out lets his voice sink to a purr that mimics his engine and let’s his hands wander with new vigor. Bumblebee's optics dial tight as he focusses on Knock Out's face, his optics drifting down more than once to stare at Knock Out's intake. Knock Out’s smile twists with the force of his satisfaction. "Or maybe you know exactly what I'm offering and you're just playing coy."

   Knock Out’s fingers find a lovely transformation seam that likely hides Bumblebee’s interface panel. Theory confirmed when Bumblebee arches sharply beneath Knock Out and his headlights flicker, they actually flicker. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You get the concept, right?”

   Bumblebee arches into the touch again and allows his own fingers to tentatively explore Knock Out’s grills. Knock Out’s engine revs. There’s never any shame in feeling good.

   “So, what’s your preference, Bee?” The familiarity is calculated. The question is because, by Unicron, Knock Out’s systems are charging quickly and he needs to know NOW!

   Strained silence, then a series of shy base code.

   Knock Out is almost blown away by the force of the scout’s statement.

   “You’ve never done…ANYTHING!?”

   Bumblebee’s baby blues are wide, honest. Slag! If this were any better, Knock Out’s interface cover would have blasted open and shot off into the woods. His voice is so husky, Breakdown would be jealous of the tone. “Allow me to fix that.”

   Knock Out dims his headlights because one, they’re still within sight of the road and any human vehicles that might pass and interrupt; and two, he may be blinding the little Autobot with his high beams. Bumblebee follows suit leaving them both in darkness save the light of this planet’s one moon. In the woods with no light, no berth and a first time Autobot…How deliciously filthy.

   Bumblebee’s interface cover pops open with just the barest of caresses. The scout’s spike is fully extended in seconds and the combination of heat and moisture from his open valve has Knock Out’s head spinning. He now seems faced with an impossible choice.

   _To take or be taken; THAT is the question._

   Bumblebee squirms below and stills Knock Out’s searching fingers just within the soaking rim of his valve. The scout shudders as he pushes himself up to beep softly into Knock Out’s audials.

   Knock Out’s processor grinds to a halt when he completes the translation.

   * _Wheeljack told me some mechs like to do it with their mouths.*_

_Oh, scrap, slag, Pit, FRAG, YES!_

“Wheeljack is not as barbaric as he looks then,” Knock Out manages to reply cooly. Without further ado, he scoots down the Autobot’s frame and swallows that perky spike in one gracefully perfect move.

   Bumblebee arches from the ground with a din of strangled clicks and whirls. The way his spike suddenly hits the back of Knock Out’s intake is incredibly rude but the medic is willing to let it go, just this once. It _is_ the mech's first time and it’s not as if Knock Out isn’t used to accommodating such invasions.

   Knock Out is sure to go over each and every sensor of Bumblebee’s spike. After all, the better he teaches the Autobot, the better Bumblebee can reciprocate later. Each sensor node sends a tiny spark along Knock Out’s glossa and he relishes it. Bumblebee’s entire frame is crawling with charge, miniature arcs of nearly blue electricity lighting up the night. The Autobot’s voice resembles some small machine going through a grinder. There’s no way he will last long against his first overload. The thought only makes Knock Out want it more.

   Bumblebee’s hands tug at Knock Out’s helm, gently demanding to speed up and go deeper. For a first timer, the mech sure knows what he wants!

   _Oh, he’s a natural alright!_ Knock Out is more than pleased to tuck that info away for further use.

   Knock Out’s fingers return to once again tease just inside the rim of Bumblebee’s valve. There’s a generous amount of self-lubricant and Knock Out groans wishing he could sink his spike into that perfect sensation while still sucking on the Autobot. He gently delves deeper with his fingers, it’s puzzling that he hasn’t run into Bumblebee’s seal yet. In all his experience, he’s never run into one set this far back inside a valve.

   Bumblebee tenses very abruptly as overload slams into him. The electronic racket he’s making is sure to frighten away wildlife for miles. Knock Out grins maniacally around the spike in his mouth before giving it one last sensor-shattering suck. The Autobot collapses in a shivering heap, his limbs twitching adorably with the last charges of his overload.

   Knock Out takes just a moment to wipe the errant trail of transfluid from his chin. This is one kind of dirty he can live with for a moment but he’d rather catch the stuff on his thumb, slowly lick it off, savoring it one more time while the Autobot watches hazily.

   Bumblebee shudders again at the display and dials his optics closed. Knock Out eagerly calculates the mech’s refractory period. With his relative age and frametype the night is promising. Perhaps he could coax three or four more overloads before the sun came up. But later. Knock Out’s own spike has reached its limit of patience some time ago and valve fluids have quite seeped through the seams of his interface cover.

   “My turn.” Knock Out hauls Bumblebee into a sitting position and leans back himself. Appealing to the kid’s sense of fairness, check! Now for the challenge. “Show me what you learned, Autobot.”

   Bumblebee rises to his knees though there’s a thread of shyness that outweighs the eager shine in his optics.

   “What’s the matter now, Autobot?” Knock Out aims for a coo but it winds up a bit too much of a biting growl. By the Unmaker! Knock Out feels like he’s going to fall apart without some immediate attention to his equipment. There’s a vague recollection of a mission here but Knock Out will address the issue AFTER his overload.

   It’s harder for Knock Out to translate Bumblebee’s basic Cybertronian in his current state of need.

   “Turn off my optics?” he repeats uncertainly.

   A nod and more gentle chattering.

   Knock Out's chuckle rumbles his frame. “No need to be self-concious. I-“

   A sharp beep of demand from Bee's horn.

   “Fine!” Knock Out crumbles with a frown. “I’ll close them.”

   He settles back and offlines his visual feed. To think Bumblebee could still be shy after an overload like that…

   _Virgins. Ha!_

Bumblebee’s next quiet command makes Knock Out shiver in anticipation and he releases his cover. The rush of valve fluid down his thighs and aft has him groaning. The moment his spike releases, he throws back his helm and grits his dental plates. Nothing but cool air and it already feels SO good. He silently coaches himself back from an almost instant overload.

_Primus! Three days without Breakdown and a couple Vehicons and look at what a mess you’ve become, Knock Out. Maybe this Autobot does have potential._

Knock Out pulls in a fresh vent to steady himself. Still nothing but bare air brushing against his interface equipment. His partner is being painful shy. “Any time you’re ready, Bumblebee.”

   The sound that greets him is like a small crack like thunder and his optics flick on in surprise. A few hundred feet to the left, the forest is lit with the rainbow energy of a groundbridge.

   _A groundbridge?_

   _A_ _groundbridge!_

And there, retreating into the rapidly closing vortex of colors, is none other than Bumblebee. The yellow mech, perfectly pulled together and with no signs of debauchery, waves cheerily and beeps a laughing farewell.

_*Thanks for the tips! See you around, 'Con.*_

   Knock Out surges to his feet, his interface panel blatantly exposed. The bridge is now closed. Gone like it never happened. His processor…he just can’t even…

_I’ve been tricked. USED! Virgin my aft!_

   When Knock Out finally finds his voice, his roar is powerful enough to scare off any creatures that might still remain in a hundred mile radius. “SLAGGING AUTOBOT!!!”

  


	3. Arcee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resident Autobot femme would be attractive, if she wasn’t such an icy glitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning for bringing up a certain Autobot's death. And Knock Out's comments about femmes? Also mentions of Airachnid *shudders*

      “Owch! Humans subject their transportation to such tortures?” The water is only lukewarm, the solvents are harsh, and the way the automated systems bombard his frame with clumsy movements... Knock Out shudders as bubbling solvents splash against his windshield.

   Maybe it _would_ have been better to stop two parking lots back and let the assembled organics with their handmade signs and collection of buckets have a go. They couldn’t possibly be any rougher than this…this **_MACHINE!_** But just the thought of wet organics touching him, sliding over his hood-No! That is the stuff of nightmares!

   But five Earth days away from the comforts of so-called home aboard the Decepticon warship and Knock Out is left with little choice if he wants to look close to presentable. A collection of cloth strips sways menacingly to and fro as it crowds in on Knock Out’s grill. He clenches everything in anticipation but can’t help but whine when one of the cloths snags his sensitive windshield wiper. “Fraggit! The things I do for my looks!”

  _**/PING/**_

   Knock Out goes still. Was that the sound of the wax cycle engaging?

   ** _/PING/_**

   No, it’s his private comm!

 _**/Breakdown, is that you?/**_ Knock Out’s voice might be a tad higher than usual. Certainly not needy or desperate though. Certainly not.

   The rumbling laugh that responds has Knock Out sighing with relief.

_**/Yeah, it’s me. Where the Pit are you? Sounds like you’re under attack./**_

_**/I’m in a car wash!/**_ Knock Out huffs over the comm.

**_/I though you hate those things on principle./_ **

**_/I can’t exactly afford to be picky! I’m stuck on the surface of this miserable planet seducing Autobots, remember?!?!/_ **

**_/…oh…/_ **

**_/Oh? What the slag is that supposed to mean? Don’t play dumb with those little pauses in your speech. You know very well where I went!/_ **

**_/Naw, I just mean…well, I thought you’d be done by now./_ **

Knock out bristles. _The nerve of some bots!_

 _**/What’s the matter?/** _ Breakdown seems sincerely concerned. _**/Can’t find any Autobots?/**_

 _ **/Oh, I found one alright!/** _ Knock Out’s words peter out into a sort of choking laughter.

_**/Well…did you get any info or not?/**_

**_/We are NOT going to discuss it!/_ **

**_/Uh. ‘Kay…/_ **

_**/And just where have you been anyway?/**_ Knock Out is now extra agitated as the obnoxious blowers of the car wash kick on and make it difficult to hear himself process! **_/Why have I been unable to reach you aboard the Nemesis?/_**

There’s a wince in Breakdown’s voice. **/ _M_ _egatron’s orders. I had my own punishment to deal with before I was allowed to open channels./_**

 _**/Punishment, you say?/**_ Knock Out practically purrs with pleasure. He’s not the only one to suffer at least! ** _/Pray tell, Breakdown. What horrors did our lord have in store for you? Spare no gruesome detail./_**

Drawn out hesitation is the immediate response. Oh, it must have been a horrific punishment, indeed!

   **_/Actually, he made me sanitize every location we’ve ever been recorded interfacing./_**

Knock Out laughs out loud and startles two human teens as he finally rolls out of the car wash. **_/That must have been quite…time consuming./_**

Breakdown grunts his agreement. Knock Out suddenly wishes with all of his being to be back aboard the Nemesis with good ol’ Breakdown who knows all the right places to buff and wax and has never once in their long, sordid arrangement ever left Knock Out unsatisfied…unlike a certain Autobot! Primus, Knock Out even misses the Vehicons! Missing his usual interfacing partners is not going to cheer Knock Out up though so he returns his focus to Breakdown’s punishment.

**_/And after you finished sanitizing three quarters of the ship? What further tortures awaited you?/_**

**_/…Uh... That was it./_ **

_That wa-_

   A cherry red Aston Martin blaring its horn just outside a carwash seems to be capable of starting quite a buzz among any nearby humans.

   “ _THAT WAS IT?!”_ Knock Out doesn’t quite register that he’s screaming this out loud having broken his private communication with Breakdown _._ A puny human shouts and extends a single, vertical finger in Knock Out’s direction.

   That is the last straw.

   Knock Out transforms in a burst of shifting metal and snags the offensive little creature in his claws. He shakes the human enough to make it squeal in horror as he continues to shout at his partner. "You mean to tell me I’m down here on some outrageous ‘mission’ to frag Autobots and you only had a little clean-up duty?!”

   The car wash’s neon signs crumbles easily under Knock Out’s fist. The shower of sparks proves to be a rather satisfying outlet for the Decepticon’s pent up rage so he smashes another. The human makes a grating, shrieking noise which only redirects Knock Out’s attention.

   “Oh, I’m sorry,” the massive, killer robot coos to the human, “I believe you were in the middle of saying something extremely rude. Please continue.”

   The human merely blubbers.

   “Knock Out!”

   The Decepticon’s processor fritzes for a moment. That’s not Breakdown’s voice. It’s much too high and cold. Knock Out half turns to find the Autobot Arcee with her blaster millimeters from his face.

   _Oh, fragging frag._

There’s a small fire starting on the carwash roof and the human in his claws is screaming as if he’s being murdered.

   “This is…not exactly how it looks,” Knock Out tries.

   Arcee’s blaster pokes the white space between his optic and helm. “It looks like trouble to me. Put the human down.”

   Knock Out complies ever so slowly. Arcee is a Cybertronian pistol, small and with a fine trigger.

   He hadn’t meant for that to sound dirty but now that he’s thinking about it… Arcee is marginally attractive; paint job reasonably maintained, fine lines, and a femme to boot. Femmes are quite rare nowadays. Arcee would be desirable, if she weren’t such an icy glitch.

   “Put the human down. Now!”

   “Ah, ah!” Knock Out flinches delicately away from the weapon in his face, before moving into action. “See, here? I’m placing the human _very gently_ back on the ground.”

   The filthy organic runs away the moment it reaches the pavement.

   Knock Out ignores the gun barrel in his face, lest he go cross-opticed (not very attractive) and offers his most winning smile. “I wasn’t going to hurt him. We were just…exchanging opinions.”

   “I’m sure,” Arcee deadpans. What does that voice even sound like when it’s not being cynical? “Arms behind your back ‘Con.”

   “Of course.” Knock Out’s palms drift upward in a sign of compliance. Seducing Arcee seems a tall order but maybe she’s so tightly wound because she hasn’t found a proper release. Knock Out knows a few moves guaranteed to de-stress. He smiles to himself. This might not be so bad. He moves gently in her direction, exuding a trustworthy calmness. “Now, let’s not do anything we’ll regret.”

   Arcee twists one of Knock Out’s arms and kicks out the back of his knee which causes the Decepticon to faceplant into a row of ornamental flowers and bushes. As Arcee climbs upon his back to cuff his hands together, Knock Out screeches in horror at the dirt digging into his freshly washed headlights.

   **_/Knock Out? You still there? Why’d you cut me off?/_**

 _ **/I’m busy!/** _ He hisses at his partner right before Arcee shoves his head into a patch of little, blue flowers.

********************

_Autobot prisoner. It does not get more humiliating than this!_

   Knock Out is still cuffed, a fact he greatly resents, as he can’t even brush the organic detritus from his frame. He paces the tiny room he’s been locked inside.

   ‘Go stow him somewhere.’ That had been the grumpy medic’s reaction as soon as Knock Out and Arcee exited the groundbridge to, presumably, Autobot base. It was a solid guess, though Arcee had bothered to blindfold Knock Out and therefore made it difficult to confirm much.

   Stow indeed! As if he was a piece of cargo to tuck away in a corner until Optimus Prime and the rest of the Autobots return from whatever mining raid they were still on.

   Knock Out kicks angrily at the deceptively thin-looking shield on the door.

   “For the last time! Knock it off, ‘Con!”

   Yes, Arcee is definitely wound tight. Her new found guard duty has done nothing to improve her mood. There’s got to be a way to tip that in Knock Out’s favor.

   Arcee waves her gun pointedly at Knock Out. “You’re not getting out until Optimus returns so just sit down and be a good little bot. Ok?”

   Knock Out’s snark rises whip fast. “I’m a Decepticon, sweetspark. Good’s not in my programming.”

   Ok, the way she glares at the term ‘sweetspark’ is definitely a warning. No pet names for this one.

   New tactic. Every mech in a war likes to complain. Knock Out sighs dramatically. “Must be agonizing for you.”

   Arcee doesn’t respond to the baited piece of conversation so Knock Out pushes ahead. “You’d clearly rather be out in the field than standing there glaring at me. I know I'm quite good looking but it won't hurt my feelings if you leave. Go ahead. I won’t tell.”

   “Somebody’s got to keep you in line,” she snaps.

   “Mmm, yes. Because I’m going to cause so much trouble bound in this little closet of yours. Surely the medic can watch me. You’re much too skilled to be wasted here.”

   Arcee’s silence is as good as any verbal agreement.

   “It must be difficult living with a bunch of over-blown, war mechs. They don't truly appreciate your skills. And I’m sure they don’t know the first thing about pleasing a femme.”

   The air is tense as Arcee visibly processes the shift in conversation. Knock Out leans back a little to pointedly scan her frame. Yup, still reasonably attractive.

   Arcee’s laugh is really more of a harsh bark. “And this is the part where you tell me femmes are your specialty and offer to impress me.”

   Knock Out is not concerned by Arcee’s accurate, if a tad flippant, assumption. He chuckles instead. “My reputation precedes me.”

   “No, but your ego’s awfully loud.”

   Knock Out does not pout. Though he’d like to.  “My skills speak for themselves, two-wheeler.”

   “Fine then. On your knees.”

   Knock Out is a little taken aback by the abruptness and plays back his audial feed, just in case.

   Arcee gently sets her blasters a respectable distance from the door. “I told you to get on your knees, ‘Con.”

   A small shiver runs through Knock Out even before he complies.

_Oh, it’s going to be like this is it? Bossy, little thing!_

The blast shield lowers to let Arcee inside and flickers back to life behind her. She subspaces a small device, presumably her means of exit later. Also a plausible means of escape for Knock Out. If he were looking to escape, that is. No, he’s got the Autobot femme right where he wants her even if _he_ is the one on his knees.

   Arcee stops just shy of Knock Out. “We won't have much time. You wanna prove yourself or is talk the only thing your mouth is good for?”

   Knock Out snorts lightly in spite of himself. “Allow me my hands and I’ll _really_ give you something to remember.”

   “Denied.” Arcee grabs Knock Out’s head crest and steers his face between her legs as she pops off the armored skirt panel that covers her simpler modesty plating and tosses it aside. “I’ve heard good things about your glossa. Get to work.”

   Knock Out glares straight up into Arcee’s optics. Is she blowing smoke or…no, surely it wasn't...but it could only be...

_Primes in the Pit! That fragging Autobot scout has a big mouth for someone with no voice!_

   Knock Out fights down the rage and manages to smile tightly. Whatever Bumblebee has told the blue femme, it will only work in Knock Out's favor. This time, the Decepticon CMO will be the one playing his partner like a Vosian violin! His glossa makes first contact with Arcee’s interface panel and it’s definitely running warmer than basic functions would cause. Knock Out drags his glossa up in a hard, wet line and is rewarded with just the barest of contemplative noises.

   As responsive as Bumblebee had been, Arcee is equally stoic. Knock Out licks and nibbles all over the panel and the surrounding sweet spots guaranteed to make a bot tremble and the femme does little more than grunt and grind his face harder between her legs.

   “Come on now,” Arcee swats Knock Out’s helm with a metal clang, “I’ve been more aroused fighting Airachnid.”

   _The fragging nerve!_ Knock Out covers his irritation with a seductive laugh. “Ooh! A little femme on femme, eh? Is that what gets your engine revving?”

   “Actually, that was a joke to point out you’re a terrible interface partner.”

   _She did not…she…Arcee…fraggin rude! Icy glitch!_

   Knock Out will not tolerate such assault on his character! But the only sign he’s doing anything right is when Arcee’s panel eventually snaps open to dribble valve fluid down Knock Out’s chin. Knock Out hums in victory.

   _Finally! You **are** turned on, you little liar._

   He ignores the small spike housing seeing as Arcee has chosen to leave it sealed.

_Femmes! Always saving their spikes for each other. Her loss._

   Knock Out goes straight for the open valve beneath instead. He wastes no time by being gentle as he shoves his glossa firmly against lubricated walls. Gentle is apparently not Arcee’s thing anyhow judging by the painful way her tiny hands twist Knock Out’s head ornamentation in an attempt to drag him closer and get more of his wiggling glossa inside her.

   Knock Out huffs in pain at a particularly ruthless tug at his left headfin and the hot vent shoots deep into Arcee’s valve to tickle the farther sensors. She bucks against his face.

   _Now there’s a suitable reaction._

   “My fingers are much longer,” Knock Out assures the moment he can find the space to mutter. “Wouldn’t you like me to go **deeper**?”

   Arcee is silent for a beat before jerking Knock Out's head fins again.

   "You know those are delicate, right?!"

   Arcee ignores Knock Out's snap. “Shut up and lay back.”

   Knock Out rolls his optics.

_All the drive of a dominatrix and none of the finesse. She could definitely learn a thing or two from Airachnid._

Not that he is going to actually suggest that. He isn’t suicidal! Airachnid's a mechacidal maniac anyway.

   Arcee shoves Knock Out’s shoulders as if he’s not moving fast enough when he awkwardly lays back without crushing his cuffed hands. The femme’s foot taps sharply at the inside of Knock Out’s upper thigh. “You got a spike?”

   Knock Out raises a single optic ridge and deigns not to respond with words. He lets his interface cover slide aside and the fully erect spike speaks for him. And no, despite Arcee being a pushy, rude, mouthy, little bot; Knock Out is not at all surprised to find himself raring to go.

   Arcee folds her slim legs under her and sinks right down onto Knock Out’s spike. Knock Out’s smile goes a little crooked as he adjusts to such a tight channel. The femme is tiny, even compared to a Vehicon’s small valve. Internal calipers constrict as if they're trying to strangle Knock Out's spike. And yet Arcee never pauses as she raises and then slams herself down over and over.

   Knock Out groans. _What a trooper!_

Arcee is obviously good to find her own overload as she bounces up and down with a single mindedness that Knock Out recognizes well. Really, he’s been reduced to little more than a warm plaything. It doesn’t bother him beyond the vague bruising of his ego. She _is_ still flying apart on _his_ spike after all, he just doesn’t have to work as hard as he thought he would. Knock Out grinds his hips upward into a deliciously savage thrust as he chases his own overload.

   After a surprisingly brief interlude of banging, the blue femme slams her valve down and throws her head back with a strangled groan as a charge rushes through her.

    _Somebody obviously needed her overload!_

   The spasming of inner walls combined with the sound of a completely destroyed Autobot is almost enough to tip Knock Out over the edge. Just. One. More. Thrust.

   Arcee braces feet against Knock Out's thighs in a surprisingly effective move and throws an arm against Knock Out’s pelvis, the hold stills him forcibly and completely. His spike twitches painfully and throbs in expectation but Arcee removes herself from Knock Out’s spike with finality. She's obviously wrecked and over the whole experience already.

   "Umm, femme?" Knock Out's voice is tight and frag if he can even remember her name at this exact moment.

    Blue Femme just shakes her helm as she fights to control the shaking fit her overload has sent her into and makes no move to help Knock Out finish. With a lack of stimulation, Knock Out’s overload slowly aborts. Terminates. Cancels.  Instead of allowing him the blissful processor-numbing crash of overload, Knock Out’s frame goes the other way and sends the lingering charge to take residence in the Decepticon’s extremities. Hands and feet tingle with painful amounts of energy.  Sorry about your luck. See ya later.

   Knock Out practically slams his helm backward into the floor and he lies there gaping like, well, like an Earth fish out of water.

_FRAGGIT! SO CLOSE!_

   Their cooldown is painfully awkward and seems to stretch out forever. Arcee-

   _That's her name!_

   -pants wildly while still straddling the space just above Knock Out’s hips. Knock Out wriggles in the fluids dripping down his interface equipment. Finally, Knock Out’s face scrunches in annoyance. “Little stingy with your compliments aren’t you, Autobot? I’d say that was a rather satisfying overload for you.”

   Arcee shoots Knock Out this hazy, little I-just-overloaded-and-I’m-tired-but-once-I recoup-I-can-and-will-kill-you look.

   Even then, she pats Knock Out’s chest absently in something resembling approval. “We’ll call it adequate.”

   Knock Out clenches his jaw and simmers in his new, foul mood.

   “You know," Arcee grunts as she staggers to her feet, “I don’t think Optimus would be terribly opposed to letting our prisoner use the wash racks.”

   Knock Out’s optics light up instantly. He dials down the obvious joy and lets his lips slide into a seductive twist of a smile. “That sounds agreeable. And after, maybe we’ll continue with Round Two?”

   Arcee frowns but it’s clear she’s considering the offer.

   _Oh, yes! A proper wash, a little energon, and then I’ll be ready to pump Arcee for all kinds of information._

   And he absolutely refuses to lose THIS NEXT overload.

***************

   Some time later, Knock Out finds himself whistling a little diddy as he strolls down the halls of Autobot headquarters. He is finally clean again! Yes, he’s blindfolded which limits his intelligence gathering but, no matter! As soon as Arcee escorts him back to his holding cell, he will begin phase two of his seduction. He’ll have some juicy tidbit of info for Megatron’s consideration and be back aboard the Nemesis by tomorrow evening!

   Life is good.

   “Stop here.” Arcee’s orders already aren’t quite as snappish as they used to be.

 _She’s wearing down alright_.

   A groundbridge opens up, bombarding Knock Out with its unique sound and energy and he tilts his head inquisitively.

   “Straight ahead.”

   Knock Out shrugs and complies. Maybe Arcee is taking them somewhere they can have more privacy for Round Two. Knock Out’s engine revs audibly. After all, there’s still lingering charge in his systems to attend to.

   The Decepticon medic continues walking until he can feel the metal floor beneath him give way to soft earth.

_Ugh! Not in a place with dirt._

   The groundbridge closes behind with a resolute snap.

Servos carefully untie his blindfold. When he finally opens his optics, it is not a blue femme that greets him.

   Knock Out all but stumbles over himself when he finally places the self-satisfied, slagging grin in front of him.

   “Breakdown!?!”

   “I came to rescue you, partner!” The blue mech throws his arms wide open as if to embrace Knock Out.

   “You…you what?" Knock Out flinches away from the larger mech’s hands. "No, you stupid slagger! Where is Arcee?”

   “I dunno." The truck shrugs. "Back at their base I guess.”

   “WHYYYYYYYYY?” Knock Out demands in a screech.

   “I took a groundbridge to the carwash and watched her shove you through a portal with a gun to your head. Didn't want to let you rot away as some Autobot prisoner, so I negotiated your release.”

   “You nego- you- Breakdown-YOU!” Knock Out spits incoherently.

   “Yeah, I stole a piece of Cliffjumper that Starscream was saving an’ I-“

   “YOU-CLIFFJUMPER- _that’s so wrong!-_ but fraggit! Mission! MISSION TO FRAG and you-“

   Breakdown’s orange face quirks in confusion and disappointment. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Knock Out?”

   Knock Out’s entire face stills, convulses, stills in a way that puts all Starscream’s nervous ticks to shame before finally...

   “NOOOOOOO!”

   _HAPPY? NOT FOR A FRAGGING---waitaminute.._.

   The pent up charge in Knock Out’s digits springs to the forefront of his thought processes.

   Even with his hands bound behind his back, Knock Out points authoritatively to the dirt at his feet. “Breakdown. Spike! Now!”

   To his credit, the truck barely even pauses before he complies.

   “Uh…Yeah,” Breakdown mutters as he obediently settles onto the ground and pops open his interface cover, “It’s good to see you too. I guess?”

   "Shut up and frag me!"


	4. Bulkhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown suggests the last member of team Prime that Knock Out would ever think to seduce. The encounter may leave Breakdown a little jealous.

 

   “Hey, Knock Out,” Breakdown rumbles tentatively.

   “What?” Knock Out grouses over a bout of loud crackling noises.

   “I’m sorry. You know, for saving you and all.”

   “Tch!”

   Knock Out’s energon cuffs finally give way under the superior force of his energon prod and fall with a _clunk_ into the dirt. His trusty battle staff never lets him down, unlike _another_ kind of staff. As he stows his weapon, Knock Out glares daggers at his sometimes bodyguard, sometimes nurse, frequent interface partner. Breakdown leans sloppily against a boulder, obviously sated by their shared overload. Orange faceplates _are_ genuinely repentant and it had been a _very_ good overload. Knock Out can’t be too angry at his well-meaning partner, mostly because he’s too slagging tired at this point.

   “I ought to knock your helm in for such a stupid move.” The threat lacks its usual bite as Knock Out flexes his wrists and works his shoulders. Knock Out closes his interface cover and then stares forlornly at his frame unsure how best to deal with the copious amounts of transfluid splattered on his inner thighs.

   _I was JUST clean!_

   “How was I supposed to know you were in the middle of seducing the femme?” Breakdown throws his arms out defensively. “You want me to comm her again and ask if she’ll take you back?”

   “What? No! That’s so tactless. I can’t just…” Knock Out slaps a hand to his helm and releases a long-suffering vent. For the first time, Knock Out bothers to survey their location. His 'rescue' has gone down in some remote forest location. He stares sidelong at a rushing stream that likely bears all kinds of disgusting, organic creatures. Knock Out shudders at the thought of living things swimming between armored plates and catching on inner cables.

   _But soooo dirty._

  Knock Out huffs another put upon ex-vent and heads for the water. “Look, Breakdown, Arcee’s wound tighter than the bolts on Soundwave’s interface panel. She’s not going to drop her guard so easily a second time. It’s too late to get anything else out of her.”

   “But you did make it with her right?”

   Knock Out raises an optic ridge at Breakdown’s expectant face. “Are you…living vicariously through my punishment?”

   Breakdown’s grin is as sloppy as his posture. “She’s a femme!”

   _As if that somehow explains everything._ Knock Out rolls his eyes before edging into the stream. _Knew that fragger had a thing for femmes._

“Well, how was sh-“

   “Let's not have this discussion while I’m still covered in your fluids!” Knock Out’s voice is a whip crack from his place knee high in the little river. It isn’t that Knock Out doesn’t enjoy the wash rack chatter when it's his interfacing exploits being discussed; That’s usually his favorite kind of chatter. It just seems interfacing endeavors haven’t been as particularly…victorious as of late. Knock Out is a little rough as he scrubs the mess from his thighs. He curses through teeth just thinking about his two previous episodes with the enemy. “Slagging Autobots!”

   Breakdown settles back against his boulder with an unmistakable pout and plays with the cloth blindfold Arcee had used. Whatever it is, it's rectangular and fuzzy and bears a pattern of tiny creatures all over it. A strange item to be in the Autobot's base. He stows the blindfold away thinking it might be fun to use when Knock Out is in a better mood. And he's confident that time will come as soon as Knock Out completes this ridiculous mission he's on and returns to the ship. Breakdown contemplates very seriously for a moment before calling across the way to Knock Out. “You should try fragging Bulkhead.”

   “WHAT?!”

   SPLASH!

  Breakdown laughs as Knock Out flounders in the shallow river. The red mech twists and surges back onto his feet as if he’d fallen into acid instead of water. His facial expression is contorted in a very unattractive state of manic disbelief. The way water runs down the curves of his entire body is kinda hot though.

   “I’m sorry,” Knock Out begins with over-exaggerated calm, “did you just suggest I interface with Bulkhead? Your former comrade and now eternal target of hatred. Is _that_ the Bulkhead to which you are referring?”

   Breakdown shrugs, “Yeah.”

   Knock Out waits patiently for a fraction of a second before flinging his arms out in silent demand for further explanation. Breakdown shrugs just a single shoulder this time. “What? He was a Wrecker. Wreckers have been known to get freaky with Autobots _and_ Decepticons. Sometimes in the same go. And I bet he hasn’t interfaced since Wheeljack left the planet. He’ll be desperate.”

   “Are you suggesting I reduce myself to desperation interfacing?” Knock Out snaps as he splashes his way back to the bank of the river.

   Breakdown has a talent for bluntness. “Aren’t you getting desperate too?”

   That is true, though Knock Out is loathe to admit it. His energon levels are not nearly where they should be and there is less than half a cube left in his subspace. The fact that Breakdown has been strictly barred from carrying his own rations off ship is a friendly reminder that Megatron is still deadly serious about Knock Out’s punishment. Knock Out had better come up with some Autobot intelligence soon. A few more solar cycles and the red mech will be feeling the lack of energy. And there is always the looming threat of new dirt.

   “Hey,” Breakdown squints and turns his head, “is that a scratch on your chest?”

   Knock Out gasps then whines piteously as he inspects the tiny indentations streaking from his headlights. Breakdown shakes his head and pulls a mini buffer out of subspace having anticipated this. Knock Out's own emergency buffer had been confiscated during his stay at Autobot base for uncertain but probably nefarious reasons. Knock Out eagerly takes a seat on the rock at Breakdown’s back and snaps his claws even though Breakdown is already standing to better reach.

The blue mech tuts idly at the tiny scratches marring Knock Out’s chest. Good thing the vain mech hasn’t gotten a very thorough look at himself lately. This finish would have been cause for quite a fit aboard the Nemisis.  “Hate to say it, Knock Out, but lowering your standards might be the only way you'll get to come back to the warship.”

   “But Bulkhead? Ugh! He’s so big, so clunky." Knock Out raises an arm to let Breakdown follow the scratches to their end. "And I’ve never once seen any indication that he knows how to even polish himself!”

   “Well, yeah. But you already struck out on the two youngest. Bulk’s your best choice.  You know how all the Wreckers have some kind of weird kink?”

   “Like you have a kink for grounders?” Knock Out chuckles and intentionally, deviously spins a tire on his back.

   “Yeah, I do!” Breakdown growls. He is very distracted for a moment before remembering their discussion. The blue mech shakes his head to clear it. “…well that's not really a kink though. More of a preference.”

   “Ohhh, so like your kink for an excessive number of limbs then?” Knock Out is cold, his face tight.

   At the ice in his partner’s stare, Breakdown pauses mid buff. Then it dawns on Breakdown. “Not this again! Ok, I’ve told you Airachnid is a _fascination_ , not a _kink_! She’s a category all her own. It has _nothing_ to do with the number of arms.”

   “Then what _is_ the fascination with her?” Knock Out sneers at the longest running point of contention between himself and Breakdown.

   “I just-Nuh uh! Not falling into this fight again.” Breakdown stows the buffer in protest and crosses his arms to match Knock Out’s posture as he pouts. “This isn't about me, it's about you! We were talking about you making a move on Bulkhead! Listen, Bulkhead’s got a kink for helpless mechs. Always been a sucker for any bot weaker than him.”

   “Weaker?” Knock Out barks, dangerously offended. Breakdown flinches at the clawed hands that reach for him but Knock Out merely grabs Breakdown’s free hands to gently place them on his red chest. The CMO arches smoothly into Breakdown's broad hands. In seconds, Knock Out has gone from terrifying to teasingly coy. “Are you saying you want me to let that big brute dominate me, put his servos all over me?”

   Breakdown’s fans engage with a painfully obvious roar. How does Knock out do that? Go from perfect interfacing afterglow, to picking a fight and rousing Breakdowns temper, to rousing other parts of Breakdown-all in a matter of minutes? Not for the first time, Breakdown tries to remember what interfacing was like before the strange force that is Knock Out crashed into his life. Tries and fails. “Errrr. You know that's not exactly what I meant. Just saying I know Bulkhead would throw himself at the chance to frag you.”

   Knock Out shrugs with his eyebrows. It’s at least a complimentary notion.

   _Though, who **doesn’t** want to frag me?_

“And the rumor is that his spike’s huge. Like ridiculously.”

   Knock Out draws short of whatever argument he is about to make. Breakdown’s own spike is rather well-sized for a mech of his frame but if he thinks there’s validity to Bulkhead being ‘huge’… It's a superficial desire but Knock Out never claimed to be the deep, spark-searching kind of interface partner. 

   “Fine,” Knock Out spits like he’s been asked to enter a crash-up derby, “I’ll seduce Bulkhead. But I want you to remember that you’re the one who suggested this.”

   “Sure thing!” Breakdown’s smile is a little too gleeful, too satisfied. “I’m gonna head back to the Nemesis and I’ll comm you if we catch sight of Bulkhead. Just do me a favor, Knock Out?”

   Knock Out hums noncommittally thinking some sweet sentiment is on its way; a ‘take care of yourself’ or maybe a teasing ‘try not to get too dinged up.’

   Breakdown bares all his teeth in a manic grin. “Tell me if his spike’s bigger than mine.”

   Knock Out doesn’t dignify that with an eyeroll but his disgusted grimace is spectacular.

   “And bots think _I’m_ shameless.”

*****************

   Despite Breakdown's assistance from aboard the Nemesis, it’s five more grueling Earth days before everything aligns in Knock Out’s favor. The Autobot ensemble has somehow managed to stumble upon _yet another_ Decepticon mining operation and taken control of the energon source. The mine happens to be near enough that Knock Out doesn’t require a groudbridge; fortunate, seeing as how there’s no way he has access to one. The mine is a small loss for the Decepticons as a whole but a downright blessing for Knock Out.

   Airachnid, the creepy slagger, just happens to show up and lure Arcee away from guard duty at the front of the mine. Bumblebee follows, despite the Autobot femme’s orders to remain behind. For once, Knock Out is grateful for the eight-legged freak. Without her, Knock Out would have been no match for the two Autobots. Pit knows seducing the both of them a second time would not have been helpful!

   Knock Out’s energon levels are critical. Not less than optimal, not annoyingly low; Knock Out’s readings are in the red, he’s scraping the bottom of his backup tank, deciding moment by moment where his energy should be redirected just to keep him online. The red mech keeps to the shadows as he limps his way into the mine. His so-called ‘mission’ is unimportant, he needs to find energon. He needs to find it _now_.

   “Arcee, Bumblebee, disengage!”

   Knock Out hastily tucks himself behind the closest outcropping as the voice of Optimus Prime echoes through the mine shaft. Seconds later, the Autobot leader is rushing past with long strides and optics flashing dangerously over his battle mask. “I need you to disengage Airachnid. Return to your post immediately!”

   The Prime never pauses and is soon out of sight. Knock Out sighs at such a close call and hauls himself to his feet with no small effort. As he continues deeper into the mine, he glances back towards the mine’s entrance just to be sure Optimus has not turned around. Ground crunches in front of the Decepticon medic. Knock Out turns and bounces backward with a horrible _clang,_ lands hard on his back.

   Bulkhead seems just as surprised as Knock Out as he stands at the Decepticon's feet with his elbows thrown wide for balance. Surprise quickly turns to an aggressive grin. “Look what I found lurking around! Where’s your partner?”

   Knock Out is distantly offended by Bulkhead’s instant interest in Breakdown. Knock Out tries to sit up or roll onto his knees but it’s so much easier just to let his body collapse back into the dirt. He does so.  Knock Out barely manages to scoff. “Your wrestling buddy’s not here.”

   Though he might show up at some point. Breakdown failed to specify if the Decepticon’s planned to take back the mine in a counterattack. _Primus, Unicron, please don't let me get caught in that crossfire._

   Bulkhead snorts so ineloquently that it grates against Knock Out’s nerves as effectively as a key scraping through his paintjob. “I’m not stupid. The Decepticon medic doesn’t go wandering around all by himself.”

   Knock Out considers lying, acting as if he’d merely been separated from troops while inspecting the mine, giving the illusion that someone will be coming for him. But the truth is that Breakdown hasn’t answered his comm line since he tipped Knock Out off about this place. The truth slips from Knock Out before he considers all the ramifications. “I’m just looking for energon.”

   It’s mostly the truth anyway. No need to admit finding Bulkhead constitutes a secondary objective approaching completion. If Knock Out makes it through the next few moments first!

   Bulkhead frowns in a perfect picture of wary confusion. “Why?”

   “Because I’m about to offline, you glitch!” Knock Out finds the energy to be snippy and decides the use is justified. He shuffles onto all fours, intent on rising and continuing on his way past the horrifically irritating Autobot but finds he needs a moment to rest after such a small readjustment.

   The way Bulkhead’s optics screw up tight make it clear he needs more exposition than that. Though it was a perfectly good and accurate explanation!

   “I-“ Knock Out winces at the less than smooth way he’s forced to pant throughout the backstory, ”I’ve been banished from the warship. Megatron is…rather displeased with me at the moment.”

   Bulkhead’s face is almost adorably laughable in his shock.

   “Whoah! The 'Cons' only medic? What’d you do to get the Big Bad’s suspension so out of whack?”

   “That’s none of your business!” Knock Out snaps. Bulkhead’s responding, sour look stretches and fades in a very literal way as Knock Out’s optics begin to fail. “I-I need energon now.”

   The way Knock Out’s forearms buckle and dump him onto the ground would be horribly unflattering if Knock Out had the energy to care. But he doesn’t. Knock Out fails to notice much of anything right until the moment Bulkhead scoops him up in oversized hands and, even then, only has the fuzziest sense that he’s being carried somewhere.

   The next thing Knock Out is aware of is the splash of energon on his lips.

   _Oh, that’s good!_

He drinks a whole cube before deciding it’s safe to reboot some of his secondary systems. His optics blink back online. He logically knows Bulkhead is carefully feeding him but the act of _seeing_ Bulkhead push a second cube to his lips is infinitely more embarrassing than just laying back and accepting it because Bulkhead _has_ _this look:_ this look of soft, sappy concern that just claws at the space around Knock Out’s spark. It’s so…so…disgustingly squishy!

   To the side, Knock Out can make out a glowing pile of energon cubes packaged and awaiting pick up. But the pile is small, this is obviously a secondary chamber for storage not active mining. Knock Out tries to squirm into a proper sitting position but Bulkhead has a firm grip on the CMO’s far shoulder and cradles him stubbornly. The squishy look on Bulkhead’s face fades into something a little harder; concern maybe, or disappointment, maybe Bulkhead has come to realize he’s tending to the enemy. Whatever it is, it causes Bulkhead’s words to come out in a stern whisper. “You passed out.”

   “I know that,” Knock Out grumbles for lack of anything snappier. He might not be in danger of imminent offline but that doesn’t mean the witty banter’s coming back anytime soon.

   The Autobot frowns and tips the second energon cube to Knock Out’s lips and, really, there’s no good reason for the Decepticon to refuse so he swallows down the rest of it.

   “So, what?” Bulkhead sighs. It’s disconcerting how such a big mech can talk so softly. “Decepticons dumped you? You just camping out somewhere?”

   “Something like that,” Knock Out mutters vaguely as he again struggles to sit up, distinctly uncomfortable in the arms of an enemy soldier. Bulkhead helps him with a gentle servo on his back and this is the first time Knock Out realizes he’s sitting in the former Wrecker’s formidable lap. The Decepticon stills, one hand braced against Bulkhead’s thigh, the other on the Autobot’s chest. Bulkhead’s entire frame tenses and his EM field is doing some weird fluttery thing that bats against Knock Out’s own.

   “ _Bulkhead’s got a kink for helpless mechs.”_ Breakdown’s words play back perfectly in Knock Out’s head.

  _That explains the growing heat under my aft._

Knock Out shifts experimentally, letting his hand drift a little further inside Bulkhead’s thigh. Cooling fans stutter next to Knock Out’s audials. He turns his face away so Bulkhead can’t see his disbelieving smirk.

   Now that the earlier energon crises has been remedied, the seduction of Bulkhead is a go.

   But kink or not, it seems Bulkhead needs a little push in the right direction. The Autobot makes no move to adjust either himself or the mech in his lap, just sits there awkwardly overheating. Knock Out suppresses a chuckle and decides it’s time to thank his rescuer.

   It’s a ploy he hasn’t used in ages but Knock Out knows just how to make his optics shimmer in the affectation of barely contained emotion. He turns the full force of those optics up to Bulkhead’s startled gaze. The key is not to hold it too long, so Knock Out counts it out in his head before averting his eyes as if in pain. He grips Bulkhead’s chest with both clawed hands and gives a single, full-body shudder before nuzzling into the broad chest.

   “Umm…” Bulkhead practically squeaks.

   “Thank you. I'm-I'm all alone. I’ve lost everything. Not that there was much aboard that horrid warship to begin with.” Knock Out whispers, just loud enough to be sure Bulkhead can hear him.  There’s a grain of honesty there which only lends to the credibility of the pathetic whine and Knock Out trembles pitifully, half in show and half in bitter remembrance. Bulkhead responds beautifully with a hitch of ventilation. Knock Out wraps his EM field extra tightly around himself lest it betray his growing amusement. But the Autobot suspects nothing and even pats awkwardly at Knock Out’s shaking back. Knock Out ramps up the drama with another stuttering vent. “They- the Decepticons- they left me for dead.”

   Bulkhead’s awkward pat becomes a loose embrace. And _PIT_ , the heat coming from the Autobot’s chassis! Knock Out’s frame vibrates lightly with the force of Bulkhead’s fans.

   “Thank Primus you were here,” Knock Out continues pitifully, ruthlessly. He balances his knees on Bulkhead’s thighs and straightens his torso until he’s almost eye level with Bulkhead. It leaves his aft perfectly vulnerable and he knows it. That _is_ the point. Knock Out lowers his optics to half strength and forces one hand to tremble lightly as it brushes the broad plane of Bulkhead’s chest. “If I’d been found like that by some other bot, unconscious, defenseless…who knows what they might have done? I’d likely be-”

   The arms around him now squeeze tightly, pushing their frames together. Knock Out is forced to arch his back given the girth of the Autobot’s frame and his own generous upper structure.

   “You’re alright now.” The rumble of Bulkhead’s voice is surprisingly arousing when whispered near Knock Out’s audial. And though Bulkhead’s words would seem noble by themself, the way one black servo drifts low on Knock Out’s back is a bit less innocent.

   Everything is going well. Though maybe a bit too well. Knock Out pointedly ignores the alerts from his interface systems that seem to think he is _somehow_ … _attracted_ to the bulky, green mech. Knock Out stares dumbly at the heavy jaw in front of him and reminds himself that Bulkhead really isn’t his type. That sweet, heroic, naïve...Though Knock Out does have an awful lot of types when he thinks about it. The Decepticon decides it’s best to focus on the act he’s been building.

   “You saved me. I-I don’t know how to repay you.” Knock Out’s fingers trail almost timidly down Bulkhead’s thoracic plating. Yes, it’s a very heavily clichéd move, the stuff of porn basics the galaxy over (and yes, Knock Out is well aware), but Bulkhead seems not to notice (or at least not mind) the bad dialogue. Instead, the Autobot practically calls "Action!" By cupping Knock Out’s aft in one palm.

   Knock Out squeaks in genuine surprise and fidgets a little against the black palm.

   “Oh!” Knock Out titters trying to keep up the act but finding that hand a major distraction. Things have taken a turn rather quickly. “I suppose that could-“

   Bulkhead surges forward until Knock Out is lying on his back, Bulkhead’s hand still cupping and kneading his aft while the other cradles Knock Out’s helm in a frighteningly intimate gesture.

   For the rest of his existence, Knock Out will deny the startled squawk that bursts from his lips. Just like he’ll deny the wave of heat that sparked in his interface equipment from the single show of power. Knock Out does vent shakily and shrinks unwillingly into himself trying to somehow make more room between himself and the looming frame of Bulkhead which is blocking out most of the light from above. “Oh, Primus, you’re huge!”

   Bulkhead’s chuckle echoes in the chamber around them. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

   _Oh. Oh! Oh, Primus and Unicron combined!_

Knock Out’s cooling fans give an involuntary whirl. The hand kneading his aft comes round to tease at his interface panel and Knock Out’s optics drift shut completely unauthorized.

   “This is ok right?”

   “Uh…” Knock Out grimaces at his own very unintelligible response. His lack of focus is caused more by the soft question than the burning hand covering his interface panel. He aims for a sexy smile though he feels it slip a little when he meets the soft, questioning gaze of Autobot blue. Knock Out swallows uneasily. “You did save me. And I am _very_ grateful.”

   Blue optics flash with obvious interest but still Bulkhead waits with a barely contained restraint that Knock Out now recognizes as the flutter in the former Wrecker's EM field. Rather belatedly, Knock Out realizes that Bulkhead is waiting for more concrete consent. Even as he nods his head for Bulkhead to continue, Knock Out swallows the sinking feeling that this scenario has _somehow_ grown out of his control.

   Bulkead’s knuckles brush gently across Knock Out’s interface panel then down the inside of his thigh, then back up in an almost hypnotic distraction. “And Breakdown doesn’t mind?”

   Knock Out stares. He'd expected a little less checking in where a kink for 'helpless mechs' was at play. _What kind of conquest frag is this?_

   “Breakdown and I are not exclusive,” he finally whispers. Though why that even matters...

   Bulkhead nods, satisfied for some ridiculous reason. For the first time, he smiles. It's a big, bright, goofy thing that makes Knock Out squirm uneasily. “Open for me?”

   Knock Out releases his interface cover though he wants very badly to point out it’s not really _for_ Bulkhead. It just _happens_ _to be_ Bulkhead. But then there’s a rather large, blunt finger tracing the rim of his valve and the petty objection is no longer important. Knock Out bucks in surprise, silver claws find heavy green forearms to clench. The pressure on the outer folds of his valve is just barely there, just enough for the Autobot to announce his intent before gently pushing the first digit of a finger inside.

   “WhooOOOh, ok!”

   Bulkhead pauses immediately, face wracked with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

   Knock Out shakes his head. _No, that’s not the problem at all_.

   “You’re really wet,” Bulkhead observes.

   _And **that’s** the problem._

Knock Out groans and covers his face as he tries to remind himself that there’s no such thing as bad pleasure!

As if in answer, Bulkhead peels Knock Out's hands from his face and offers his own bit of soft assurance. "Nothing to be ashamed of here."

   But the eerie reminder of Knock Out's life mantra does not brush away the fact that this is _Bulkhead_ and that Knock Out is no longer the one doing the seducing.

   Breakdown and Bullkhead are very similar in size but everything about the green mech is so much _thicker._ Where Breakdown’s massive chest tapers to a slimmer waist, Bulkhead is wide and sturdy throughought. And though Breakdown's digits are rather wide, they are a tad flat; easy enough for Knock Out to take inside a few at a time. But Bulkheads servos are round and thick from palm to tip and just one finger feels less of a digit and more an entire spike gently curling against the walls of Knock Out’s valve. So when a second black digit enters, Knock Out’s hit with a sense of fulfillment that literally takes two Vehicons on a good day.

   “Primus!” Knock Out rocks against the fingers as his own fans rush on with a deafening roar.

   Bulkhead only chuffs softly and drags a massive thumb across Knock Out’s faceplate before running it teasingly over gasping lips. “You’ll wanna keep quiet, in case Optimus comes back.”

   Slag if that doesn’t kick on another fan Knock Out didn’t even know he possessed! Bulkhead's other thumb, the one attached to the hand doing lovely things to Knock Out's interface equipment, presses insistently against the cluster of exterior sensors just above Knock Out's valve before scraping up the underside of his spike. Knock Out bites down on the thumb skimming his faceplates not a second before a third fingers nudges at the exquisitely stretched mouth of his valve, the two digits inside lighting slick sensors, and he unexpectedly overloads. Knock Out groans around the thick digit in his mouth and quivers, plating flaring to release heat, transfluid falling on his own torso and body frame shuddering when that third digit inches inside. His hips pump in time with Bulkhead's fingers through the whole thing. Eventually the Decepticon slumps, tired and surprisingly sated.

   The Autobot rumbles with something like satisfaction or maybe appreciation as he calls back Knock Out's attention with that gentle hand on his face. It trails down his sensitive faceplates, over his throat, and continues around back to rub at the spot where Knock Out's helm meets the sturdy cables of his neck.

   _Pit, that feels...kind of amazing._

   The distinct click of Bulkhead’s panel opening clears Knock Out’s processor in record time. The Decepticon CMO stares between green thighs with nothing short of awe.

   “No way,” he vents softly.

   Bulkhead’s faceplates color with the force of his sudden shyness. He shrugs and rumbles. “Yeah, that’s what I usually hear.”

   “There’s no way!” Knock Out repeats a bit more emphatically and stares at the massive spike that’s _still pressurizing_. “Is that modified? Did you do holo porn on Cybertron?”

   Bulkhead shakes his head matter of factly, as if he’s answered this question a million times.

   “Liar!” Knock Out accuses even as his valve clenches around the three digits still slowly stretching him. Did he say he was sated? Cancel that thought. Knock Out has seen a lot of spikes. There's not a definite number because he lost track sometime during the war but he's definitely some sort of spike connoisseur by this point. There's big, there's big for a particular frame, then there's Bulkhead, and just on the other side of Bulkhead is 'so big it's a parody or medical condition.' Knock Out snorts inelegantly. “There’s no way you wasted that massive thing _not_ doing porn.”

   “Cross my spark,” Bulkhead grins only mildly self-conscious.

   “Then…then your creator was a kinky slagger and you _should_ have done porn on Cybertron!”

   “You wanna test it then?”

   By the Allspark, it would be somehow…UNETHICAL not to!

   Knock Out nods mutely like a mech with half his intelligence.

   Bulkhead eases back and pulls Knock Out up to straddle round, green thighs and manages to keep his three fingers flexing the calipers of Knock Out’s valve the whole time. Knock Out groans. “You’re absolutely sure you were never a porn star? Primus, you could have been rich.”

   The Autobot shakes his head in amusement. With a quiet squelch, Bulkhead removes his fingers and rubs Knock Out’s lubricant all over the mammoth spike. Knock Out watches with rapt attention and is nearly startled the moment Bulkhead leans backward.

   “It’s a lot easier this way.” Bulkhead explains as he gestures to his spike jutting straight in the air. It looks impossibly larger when it’s not standing against the backdrop that is the rest of Bulkhead's girth.

   Knock Out licks his lips and wastes no time before carefully lowering himself onto the spike that’s nearly as broad as his own upper arms.

   _Where does he even hide this thing?_

It’s not for lack of interest, but red hips don’t even make it down a third of the spike before Knock Out chokes back a pained groan. Three fingers have not nearly prepared him for this! Knock Out’s valve walls seize against the ridiculous intrusion. “Ah, this is physically _impossible_. You’re too big!”

   “You can take it,” Bulkhead assures without missing a beat. He rubs a servo, still damp from Knock Out’s fluids, up and down Knock Out’s spike. And, slag yeah, that does help open him up just a little.

   “If…if I die attempting this, you have my permission to tell everyone.”

   Bulkhead laughs and rolls his hips gently. Knock Out gasps and collapses against the chest beneath him as Bulkhead’s spike slips a few inches further in. Every sensor node in Knock Out’s valve screams with the sheer force of pressure on them, the trapped heat, the friction when either mech vents in or out. His ceiling node throbs and, just behind that, Knock Out can feel the pressure pushing against his medically inserted gestational inhibiter.

   “Gah!” Knock Out throws his head back against the fuzzy pleasure/pain that makes his legs quake. If Bulkhead were to overload at the moment, the transfluid might very well blast a whole through Knock Out’s internals. Knock Out reaches beneath him, dying to know how much spike he has to go. His whole hand can't even wrap around the unsheathed section of Bulhead's spike.

   “Hey, that’s pretty good,” Bulkhead croons as notes the area of Knock Out's focus.

   "Pretty good!" Knock Out winces through his short ex-vents. "Pit! You might as well detach my whole arm and shove it in there!"

   Bulkhead lifts Knock Out by the hips and gingerly drags him back down. "Frag, are you into that kinda thing?"

   Knock Out wants to say he's into most everything and will certainly _be able_ to fit his whole arm in his valve **_if_** he survives Bulkhead's spike first. But Knock Out has no words as he digs into Bulkhead’s armor. Sharpened claws scrape lines of green paint. He just wants to focus on the horribly delicious way Bulkhead is wrecking his valve with the gentlest of thrusts. Knock Out’s second overload builds alarmingly fast. The large hands lifting his hips up and then grinding them down are a few degrees from burning into his plating. He pants and keens without any reservations left. When he overloads, it feels almost like he’s dying. Transfluid shoots from his spike to smear beneath his hands as he grips Bulkhead for dear life and his valve contracts with the sucking force of a black hole. The sheer heat offlines a few tertiary systems, his optics fritz, and his plating rattles with the force of his spasming. His valve feels like it might explode as the walls suddenly ease and that spike slips impossibly further inside.

   Bulkhead roars beneath him and jerks Knock Out off his spike abruptly. Two things happen simultaneously. A gush of lubricant spurts from Knock Out’s valve with enough force to set off a third, smaller overload and Bulkhead’s massive spike erupts in thick waves of pearlescent transfluid that splatter against Knock Out’s chest and nearly change his paint scheme entirely.

   As Bulkhead carefully lowers Knock Out back onto the mess that is the green Autobot’s fluid-streaked thoracic plates, Knock Out manages a heavy ex-vent before he offlines his optics.

   _Filthy again. So, fragging worth it._

**************

   Knock Out onlines with a groan. He hurts. Every part of him. Especially the lower half.

   _Still fragging worth it._

He braces himself for the outrageous amounts of fluids that are likely to be crusted to his frame after such a vigorous bout of interfacing. Knock Out heaves himself upward, having no recollection of being laid on his back, and something tumbles from his chest to bounce off his knee before raising a small puff of dirt when it hits the ground. He expects the Autobot to be lying beside him. Probably snoring in blissful recharge. But there's no noise and no Autobot. Knock Out blinks in the empty cavern. “Bulkhead?”

   There’s no answer. No sign of the former Wrecker save the large footprints in the loose dirt. He’s gone. Just gone. The stockpile of energon is gone as well.

   Rage shakes Knock Out's frame. _Even the soft Autobots frag and run!_

   Knock Out chances a glance at his armor. He’s clean. Perhaps still a bit sticky but immaculate compared to his state when he’d fallen into recharge. He’s been thoroughly wiped down. Presumably by that ridiculously soft-sparked, big lug. Knock Out’s spark clenches the tiniest bit.

   Then he realizes he’s botched his mission again. He hadn’t even _thought_ to prod Bulkhead for information. Though how was he supposed to think about much of anything in the presence of a spike that should well be legendary?

   Knock Out sighs. He really has nothing. He’ll never be allowed to return aboard the Nemisis. His position as CMO is meaningless. His faction really has deserted him to flounder about this planet and sell himself out to every Autobot he crosses. He sits alone in the emptied mine weighing his options. Something glitters just beyond Knock Out’s foot. He shifts his pede to reveal two full cubes of energon.

   The things that had tumbled from his chest. No doubt, they were gently left there by Bulkhead. Knock Out shakes his head.

   “Autobots,” he mutters.

**_/PING/_**

Knock Out debates whether or not to answer the comm.

 _**/PING/**_ This time with Breakdown’s personal tag line.

   The red mech sighs wearily as he passes an energon cube from hand to hand. _**/Go ahead, Breakdown./**_

_**/Did you find Bulkhead?/**_

_**/Yes, I-/** _

_**/So, is he bigger than me?/** _

Knock Out grits his teeth and considers the best, most painful way to phrase exactly how much bigger.

 ** _/Naw, just kidding./_** Breakdown cuts in with barely hidden amusement. ** _/_** ** _You can tell me all about it later._** ** _I wanna be able to see your face. Anyway, this call is actually official business. Hope you got something good from Bulk because Megatron wants a mission report./_**

   _Oh, goody._

**_/He says you can give it to Starscream. Just send him your coordinates./_ **

_A mech to mech meeting with Starscream…double goody._

Knock Out cuts the line before Breakdown can press for any more scandalous details. He stores the precious energon in subspace and heads off in search of a place to contact Starscream, preferably someplace with a high cliff. Knock Out has a feeling he may need to throw the air commander off it.

   Knock Out swears with a heat he usually reserves for Autobots, “Slagging Starscream.”


	5. Wheeljack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out delivers his miserable report to Starscream and the aftermath leads to an encounter with yet another former Wrecker. And this time, Knock Out is in total control of the situation...Right?

   Knock Out considers the cliff rising up nearby. It’s high but not too high. If he were to _accidentally_ push Starscream off, the Air Commander would have very little time to realize his predicament and transform. He’d have two seconds tops to switch modes and fly off and thus save himself from crunching to the sturdy rocks below. The fall wouldn’t kill the jet but, by Unicron, it would be satisfying to watch! Knock Out’s been considering this for nearly an hour now.

   An airy chuckle draws Knock Out’s steel-jawed glare back to the twitching mech in front of him. Starscream daintily wipes away cleansing fluids that have squeezed from the corners of his optics even as he gestures that Knock Out should continue giving his status report. Over the course of this farcical report to Starscream, Knock Out has, obviously, omitted as many details as possible. The way he gave Bumblebee some fantastic oral before the scout ran off, the way he let Arcee dominate him and then wound up denied himself, the horrible feeling that he’ll never be able to look at Bulkhead the same way again; these are things he doesn’t feel obligated to share with the SIC. But it seems Starscream doesn’t need all the details and is delighted enough with just the general idea of Knock Out failing to seduce three Autobots in a row.

    “So, in summary, “ Knock Out snaps in an attempt to interrupt Starscream’s uproarious cackling, “I have made contact with Autobots Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead. No useful information has been acquired.”

   Starscream composes himself with just a few lingering chuckles and a last fantastically wheezing intake. At last, he straightens to his full height and holds himself like a proper commander instead of some over-charged bar skulker. And yet the following satisfied purr is almost more annoying than all the previous laughter. The SIC takes his time completing a full circle around the silently fuming medic as he examines Knock Out’s paint job. A scratch here, a dent there, a top coat that’s lost nearly all its luster; the Seeker’s wings twitch with each little discovery.

   “Why, Knock Out,” Starscream tosses out one of his pouty, little frowns and adds his patently false sympathetic coo, “you look positively barbaric!”

   Knock Out growls but makes no indication of delivering a comeback. It would only give Starscream something else to pick at.  The Decepticon SIC pauses directly in front of Knock Out, slim arms behind his back as is his customary prelude to discussing business. He clears his intake of one last chuckle.  “Let me see if I understand the situation correctly. You’ve been wandering the planet’s surface for twelve Earth cycles with absolutely nothing to show for it save your deplorable paint job?”

   “Two of those cycles were spent here waiting for you to finally show up” Knock Out grits out.

   “Ah, well you know how it is! There’s so much to do aboard the Nemesis.” Starscream’s optics glitter with a challenge. Knock Out refuses to take the bait just yet. Though that cliff in the distance looks more and more like Knock Out’s new favorite place.

   “It’s a shame,” Starscream shrugs with painfully false remorse, “I had such faith that you would complete this mission with flying colors. Not as irresistible as you fancy yourself, are you? Maybe if you’d retained your airborne alt-mode...”

   Knock Out meets Starscream’s optics with a spark-dead, frozen stare. Commenting on his paint job is one thing but if the Seeker starts the alt-mode bashing again, sparks are going to fly.

   “Poor, poor Knock Out. I could help you, you know. Perhaps work my charm and convince Megatron to reinstate you aboard the warship. In return for your services of course.”

   “Services?” Knock Out tries not to scoff as he raises one brow ridge.

   Knock Out would have to be blind not to see the way Starscream vies for Megatron’s position as leader of the Decepticons and he’d be glitched to think throwing his support behind Starscream will make a scrap of difference. Starscream might have the uncanny ability to survive his poorly attempted coups but Knock Out has a feeling that luck will not extend to himself when (not if, but _when_ ) the latest takeover goes to the smelting pit. Knock Out remembers the chill of Megatron’s shadow looming over him and shudders. It’s not worth the warlord’s undoubted thrashing just to be in Starscream’s good graces. But maybe Starscream just wants to borrow Breakdown for buffing sessions. The Seeker’s been angling for that arrangement since Knock Out and Breakdown showed up on this planet. Something about those wings being difficult to reach.

   “And what might those ‘services’ entail, Commander Starscream?” Knock Out plays nice by using Starscream’s proper title, if only to better mask his contempt for the half-glitched fragger.

   Starscream leans back a little and crosses thin arms.

   Knock Out bitterly notices the way those limbs gleam in the setting sunlight. _So irritatingly shiny!_

   The SIC hums a little purring rumble as he pretends to think even though Knock Out knows this is all part of an act. The cog-sucker knows exactly what kind of favors he wants. Starscream tilts his helm in a way that the Seeker obviously favors for its air of superiority.

   _There’s that slag-eating grin again._

    “Your _expert_ services of course.” As Starscream smiles, his face lowers- externally mimicking the internal descent from proud commander to gleeful predator. Starscream circles Knock Out once more, slower, with intent so obvious that Knock Out’s energon roars through his cables and his rotary saw begs to come online. An unnerving tickle causes the red mech’s back struts to clamp rigidly as one of Starscream’s thin claws spins a wheel on Knock Out’s back.

   Knock Out rolls his eyes spectacularly. _Ugh! Not this again. I’d have to lose a lot more than some recharge and a little paint before I even considered stirring that pit of crazy._

   “Perhaps Autobots aren’t appreciative of a fine model like yours,” Starscream whispers into Knock Out’s audial in a way that might be seductive if Knock Out had any interest in the twitchy SIC. “You’re well aware that I happen to find a certain appeal in mechs who know how to present themselves, ground-pounder or not.”

_Why can’t the slagger ever just come out and ask for it? And if Starscream thinks I’m going to interface **him** just because I-_

   A thin hand trails over Knock Out’s aft.

   That’s certainly more forward than usual.

   Knock Out viciously knocks the appendage away and whirls to pin the Seeker with a glare and an unyielding hand on his chest. “I thought I made myself clear the first time you ever propositioned me but let me just remind you that _I will_ _not_ be interfacing with you. _Ever_. Not even in your wildest recharge fantasies, Screamer.”

   The Air Commander snarls at the nickname as much as the denial and shoves Knock Out’s hand from his frame. “Fool, you’ll never make it back to the Nemesis without my help! The fact that you’re still online is nothing less than a miracle. Be reasonable!  Why sell yourself out to Autobots and yet refuse a perfectly good offer from your future Lord?”

   Starscream reaches for red armor as if he can make some kind of point. Knock Out flicks his energon prod from subspace and bats Starscream’s hand to the side with a violent arc of energy that clearly says ‘no means no.’ The Seeker stumbles backward with a squawk and bounces against empty air. Starscream’s optics dial wide in surprise.

   Knock Out brings his staff around for a follow up, just in case Starscream needs the refusal carved into his plating, and Starscream flails wildly.

   “Wait, wait!” the Seeker screeches with outraised hands. Luckily, Knock Out is already lowering his staff as he catches a strange shimmer behind the Decepticon SIC. Starscream seems to be half-sprawled upright across some invisible… _thing_. Except it’s not quite invisible. The space behind the startled Seeker shimmers briefly at an accidental brush of wings and then settles back into nothingness. SIC and medic both halt their attack and stare mutely at the strange atmospheric effect.

   “What is that?” Knock Out grips his energon prod tighter, distrustful of whatever this _thing_ is that remained hidden at such proximity.

   “There’s something here, something cloaked.” Starscream runs his hands over the solid space that looks remarkably like boulders and clouds stretching into the distance. Whatever it is, it’s large enough to stretch beyond the limits of Starscream’s reach. “It’s massive, like a bunker or-“

   “Or a ship?”

   “Yes, like a ship,” Starscream murmurs.  And then he tenses, wings high and tight on his back. Slowly Starscream turns to Knock Out. Two sets of wide optics meet. “You didn’t say that, did you?”

   Knock Out shakes his head.

   “Up here, slaggers.”

   Knock Out and Starscream jerk toward the cliff Knock Out has been eyeing all evening. At the top stands a mech, stance wide and assured, and a sword in each hand. Swords, white paint with green and red accents, headfins…

   “Oh slag,” Knock Out mutters. He’s heard plenty of Breakdown’s stories about this particular mech.

   “Have you come to be captured again, Wheeljack?” Starscream spits the name with a mix of pleasure and derision.

   White paint catches the setting sun as the mech shrugs before shouting to the two below.  “Naw, wasn’t all that impressed with the accommodations the first time. But, hey, congrats! You slag-eaters found the Jackhammer! Looks like it was just dumb luck but I’m still gonna have ta kill ya.”

   Starscream barks a laugh, arms leisurely coming up to put the swordsmech in line with twin missiles. “Fat chance, Wheeljack. I brought you in once, I’ll simply do it again.”

   Without further warning, one of Starscream’s missiles blasts into the side of the cliff. The rock face crumbles in a fantastic display of fire and flying boulders that crest and fall in a wave of explosive death. When the smoke and dust thins out, Starscream stares blankly. “Did I hit him?“

   “Peekaboo.”

  Starscream squawks and just barely twists to the side in time for Wheeljack’s blade to slice just the tip of his wing instead of severing the whole thing as intended. How Wheeljack managed to get behind them is a horror neither Decepticon can comprehend as they scramble out of the swordmech’s range. Starscream clutches the leaking tip of his injured wing and howls in outrage. Without missing a beat, Wheeljack bears down on him again. The Seeker growls and transforms, his thrusters blasting directly into Wheeljack’s face as he beats a hasty retreat. “You’re on your own, Knock Out!”

   “Are you serious?” But that’s all the incredulous shouting Knock Out is allowed before Wheeljack recovers and there’s two windmilling swords invading Knock Out’s personal space.

   Knock Out’s energon prod whirls in time with the dual blades, blocking desperately but finding horrifyingly little in the way of openings to attack. He manages a single blow to Wheeljack’s right hip but it does little more than temporarily slow down the onslaught. The Decepticon medic has certainly seen combat but he would never be so insane as to stage a fight like this willingly!

 _And that’s exactly why!_ Knock Out growls to himself when his energon prod is skillfully knocked from his grip and flies somewhere over his shoulder. A blade sneaks under his chin lightning quick and he rears back instinctively before stopping with a harsh jerk. He’s not sure if it’s safe to retreat or if his throat has already been slit and the momentary stillness is just his processor replaying his last seconds of life in agonizing slow motion. Wheeljack’s voice ruins the tense moment.

   “Ouch, sorry about your luck, bud.” Wheeljack shrugs, making the sword scrape along the cables of Knock Out’s neck. Then his eyes drift down, quickly taking in Knock Out’s frame. Wheeljack’s facemask retracts and scarred lips quirk into a truly reluctant grimace. “Real shame too.”

   Knock Out’s optics dial comically wide and he practically screeches. “Are you checking me out?”

   Wheeljack’s lopsided grin takes over the entire lower half of his face and he shrugs, “Well, hey, a bot can look.”

   Knock Out’s lips purse as he formulates a properly indignant reply about how it’s rude to ogle someone you’re about to murder when he notices the swordsmech has grown suddenly still, deathly silent. Then Knock Out hears something.

   It’s a beeping noise, shrill little blips of sound steadily increasing pace.

   Meters behind Wheeljack is a small, flashing cylinder lying conspicuously on the ground.

   Wheeljack checks his right hip, finds it empty of its usual cargo, and meets Knock Out’s gaze with wide eyes.

   Knock Out suddenly remembers Wheeljack’s second weapon of choice. “Tell me that’s not a-“

   KABOOM!

   Knock Out tumbles aft over helm as the world burns around him. Everything is smoke and flame and a horrible ringing in his audials and optic feed that shifts and rolls before righting itself with the barest of static around the edges. The first thing he sees is a ship, a formerly white but now quite blackened private ship. The bomb blast must have damaged the cloaking around the Jackhammer. Speaking of bombs, the grenade carrying mech is lying face down in the dirt a short distance away.

   The former Wrecker does not move for a very long time. Knock Out manages to get his feet under himself (resolutely not examining his armor because there's no way it isn't scratched to the pit!) and makes his way to the downed bot. He miraculously finds his lost energon prod along the way and grips it tightly. He uses the long staff to poke at Wheeljack’s dirt-covered back from a reasonably safe distance. No response. Knock Out lightly kicks the mech’s foot. Nothing.  “Scrap, are you dead?”

   Wheeljack moans. Knock Out flails in panic and delivers a full force-blow from his energon prod before he’s even thought it out. Wheeljack passes out again with a groan.

   “Well,” Knock Out drawls once he’s calmed his wildly spinning spark, “this is a welcome change.”

***************************

   Knock Out hums pleasantly to himself as he types away at the Jackhammer’s control panel. There must be a whole wealth of Autobot information stored within the computers in Wheeljack’s ship! If only the darned things weren’t all password protected.

   “Oh well,” Knock Out shrugs nonchalantly at the red screen denying him access. A few puny passwords will be nothing to Soundwave. The real challenge is figuring out how to contact the Nemesis. The blast not only scrambled all of Knock Out’s personal comm lines but it did a number on the Jackhammer’s communication system as well. Still, there’s a good chance that some bot, if not Starscream himself, then surely a group of vehicons, will show up to figure out what went down with Wheeljack and his cloaked ship. Until then, Knock Out has only to keep half an eye on Wheeljack and occasionally attempt a new password to pass the time.

   _Ooooh, what about ‘Bulkhead?’_

“Looking for something, ‘Con?”

   This time, Knock Out is not even startled by the voice of Wheeljack. The red mech turns, smug from helm to pedes, and cocks his head at the former Wrecker who’s lying on the ship’s only berth with his hands cuffed above his head. Knock Out savors the fact that he is not the one onlining to strange circumstances for the first time in twelve Earth cycles.

   “As a matter of fact, I am looking for information but it all seems protected. I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to give me the password.”

   “Ah, see the point of a password is to keep mechs out. It’s not something I just go handing out to Decepticons. Even the good-looking ones.”

   Knock Out’s optic ridges rise appreciatively before he twirls his energon prod and rests its tip against Wheeljack’s chest. “Normally, flattery would get you most anywhere but I’m a little tired of this planet at the moment and having to drag your heavy aft in here has certainly not improved my mood. I’ll make you a deal, Wheeljack. You make my life easier by telling me the password and I won’t kill you.”

   Just to drive the offer home, Knock Out activates the energy prod. Blue charge crackles across Wheeljack’s chest and forces him to arch with a pained groan. The Wrecker vents harshly and Knock Out waits for his cue to continue. A former Wrecker will take much more convincing than a single shock, if he breaks at all. Knock Out waits for the taunt; the ‘that all you got?’, the ‘Wrecker’s don’t break that easy!’, or even stony silence but Wheeljack just chuckles. “Try that a little lower, please.”

   Then the former Wrecker has the audacity to let his legs fall open and shift his pelvis up to draw attention as he retracts his interface panel and leaves his array completely exposed. Knock Out resets his optics. Then he smiles wryly. “Oh, you kinky fragger. Should have known you had a thing for bondage given the number of energon cuffs I had to choose from! I found no less than a dozen pairs lying around your ship.”

   “Only a dozen? You must have missed the storage locker under the berth. That's where I keep the really good stuff.” Wheeljack’s grin is downright devilish as he tilts back his head to inspect the cuffs around his wrists and looping through the sturdy table legs at the head of the berth. “Not bad though. Pre Fall of Cybertron, Decepticon military grade. None of that flimsy Autobot stuff. Nope, I’m not getting out of these without a key. Good choice.”

   “Thank you.” Knock Out thinks he might actually enjoy this particular Autobot and it’s not just the shameless way Wheeljack is stretched out with his interface panel wide open.  “How about a passcode then? Maybe I’ll give you the key and you can slink away before my backup arrives.”

   Wheeljack shrugs as best as a mech handcuffed to a berth can. “…Ok. Deal. But first I think we owe it to ourselves to have one pit of a frag.”

   “Excuse you!” Not that Knock Out is offended, just a little surprised by the lack of dancing around the subject. Well, yeah, the mech’s panel is wide open already but if prior Autobot seduction taught Knock Out anything, it’s that the good guys usually need a little push before submitting to baser desires. This does not seem to be the case with Wheeljack.

   “Come on, we both escaped death today. Possibly more than once before it’s all said and done. Why not live a little? How’s this for a bargain; You help me overload and I’ll give you the passcode?”

   There’s really absolutely no need to comply. The passcode isn’t even important. Soundwave will hack the computers or, failing that, hack into Wheeljack himself and retrieve the data. But Knock Out’s haul of Autobot and ship would be that much sweeter if it came with full access and Knock Out’s cursory inventory of Wheeljack’s ship had revealed that the two shared similar tastes...and Knock Out’s yet to be disappointed by interfacing former Wreckers. _And_ Knock Out is allowed to _want_ things from time to time.

   “Alright,” Knock Out smirks, “we have a deal.”

   If it’s a bad idea, it’s at least mutual given the two pairs of twisted grins. There’s no need for coaxing permission so Knock Out simply stows his energon prod and climbs onto the berth to straddle Wheeljack’s hips. The white mech bucks up to grind his exposed panel against Knock Out’s and the Decepticon laughs in delight. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something this insane, is it?”

   “Former Wrecker,” Wheeljack reminds, “this is pretty mild.”

   Knock Out grins like a glitch. Intoxicated by the day’s success and the demented flirtation, Knock Out allows himself to dig sharp fingers deep into seams above the white mech’s thighs and the moment Wheeljack hisses, Knock Out leans forward to kiss scarred lips.

   Wheeljack meets him as far as he can stretch and smashes his lips into Knock Out’s with all the grace of a car crash. It’s rough between biting teeth and stabbing tongues but neither mech complains and Knock Out’s hands leave Wheeljack’s seams to grip a white helm almost viciously. This is a kind of mutual hunger that Knock Out never gets tired of. To find it in an Autobot is quite the pleasant surprise. Wheeljack’s hands are useless but he keeps Knock Out pinned to his frame by sucking the medic’s tongue firmly into his own mouth and grinding his hips upward.

   “Scrap!” Knock Out tears from the Autobot’s mouth when he realizes Wheeljack’s spike has pressurized and is scraping wetly against his own interface panel. Knock Out releases his seals to let his heat mingle with Wheeljack’s as they writhe against each other. Wheeljack’s spike drags through the dripping folds of Knock Out’s valve and the swordsmech groans. He shifts his hips trying to nudge between lubricated flaps and slip inside but Knock Out backs away with a shallow laugh. “Nuh uh uh!”

   Without preamble or warning, Knock Out practically slams two fingers into Wheeljack’s valve and the former Wrecker arches off the berth with a strangled cry. Thank Primus the former Wrecker is just as wound up as Knock Out or that probably would have hurt. A third fingers slips in because, well, why not? Wheeljack’s thrashing and moaning seems to indicate that three fingers flexing and curling inside his slick valve is highly acceptable. Knock Out grins and adds a fourth just to make it interesting. Wheeljack doesn’t disappoint with a shout that’s more static than words as he does his best to impale himself on Knock Out’s fingers.

   "Careful," Knock Out chides at the first sight of energon on his digits, "they're sharp."

   Wheeljack shows just how much he cares by bucking pointedly onto the half-withdrawn claws. The Decepticon hums his approval.

   Since he doesn’t need to restrain Wheeljack in any way, Knock Out let’s his other hand drift down to carefully sink into his own wet heat. He shudders against his own fingers. He is entirely too close to overload and Wheeljack is bucking so desperately it’s hard to tell who might come undone first. Knock Out vents and the hot air shimmers much like the cloaking on the Jackhammer had. He manages to keep his voice a steady purr through his heated vents as he leers at the shaking frame beneath him. “Enjoying yourself, Wheeljack?”

   “Frag, yes! Give me the servo!”

    Knock Out smirks at the wild command. “Give you the- The whole servo? It would be incredibly dangerous and an _agonizingly_   _tight_ fit. Are you quite certain?” He asks sweetly even as he mercilessly continues to pump four fingers into Wheeljack's valve.

    “Primus! I need-“

    Knock Out purposefully interrupts the outpouring of need as he complies and works his opposable digit into the tight space of the Autobot’s valve. The tortured flutter of Wheeljack’s face is totally worth it. Knock Out thrusts shallowly into the Autobot, the widest part of his hand sinking just past the rim before dragging out and thrusting in repeatedly. Wheeljack's calipers actually make muffled popping sounds as they adjust. Knock Out unfurls his fingers to scrape against the deepest pleasure nodes.

   “FRAG!”

   The heat of Wheeljack’s internals let’s his valve walls expand but it is still an almost painfully tight fit; a slick, suffocating heat around Knock Out’s hand that travels up his arm and makes his own valve ache in sympathy.

   “Still with me?” Knock Out tears his optics away from the sight of a valve contracting around his servo to find Wheeljack’s eyes near white with excessive charge.

   Wheeljack tosses his head back with a groan and mutters brokenly between vents, “Oh frag, it’s almost as good as Bulk.”

   Knock Out would laugh but he doesn’t have the ventilation for such frivolity as he focusses on not overheating into shutdown.

   _Bulkhead! A kink for weaker mech and a kink for being bound. Of course they’ve interfaced, these two are perfect for each other! And if he’s used to Bulkhead’s monstrous spike, it’s no wonder Wheeljack can take a whole servo!_

Just the thought of Bulkhead’s deliciously massive spike causes Knock Out’s valve to contract in an empty ache despite his own three questing fingers. Primus! If these two former Wreckers went at it…Knock Out pants at that fantastic scenario and withdraws from his valve as he forms a devious plan. He strokes his own spike for an idle moment. “Almost as good as Bulkhead, huh?”

   Wheeljack is too far gone to respond beyond labored exvents. By the Unmaker, the Autobot responds beautifully to being interfaced with just a servo. Admittedly, it's an _entire_ servo... Knock Out presses firmly down on the former Wrecker’s hip, smearing the white with his own valve fluids. If this works, even a hand on a hip and energon cuffs won’t be enough to stop Wheeljack from a spectacular physical reaction. Knock Out carefully splays the hand inside Wheeljack’s valve, fighting against the clenching of already straining calipers, and carefully slips his own spike in alongside his hand.

   Spectacular indeed! Wheeljack roars and bucks off the berth with enough force that Knock Out loses balance and falls atop the Autobot’s torso. His hand sinks past the wrist and only stops at the impossibly wide span of his red forearms. It sounds like someone’s ripping the very spark from Wheeljack’s chest the way the Autobot screams and then there’s fluid everywhere. Transfluid gushes in two hard bursts from Wheeljack’s spike and a mix of lubricant and energon oozes from the tiny spaces around Knock Out’s hand and spike as it seeks to escape Wheeljack’s impossibly crowded valve.

   The valve contractions nearly dislocate the opposable digit of Knock Out’s hand but he is beyond caring. Knock Out is fisting his own spike while seated inside an overloading Autobot valve! He doesn’t stand a chance. Knock Out overloads with his own death cry, the flood of transfluid backing up around Knock Out and dripping to the berth below, and he shuts down completely.

   The room swims when Knock Out comes back online. His internal log shows two failed reboots just a few minutes prior. Knock Out tries to mutter some shocked and appreciative curse but only manages a wheeze of grinding gears punctuated with a static whine. For once, Knock Out’s Autobot interface partner for the evening is unconscious and exactly where Knock Out left him. Knock Out withdraws his cramped servo, lazily smirking at the flood of lubricants that streams from Wheeljack's quivering valve, and pats the filthy ventral plating beneath him in satisfaction.

   “Good Autobot,” he croaks before shutting down again.

***********************

   By the time Knock Out wakes, figures out how to work the wash racks tucked into the back of the ship, and washes away the most visual signs of debauchery, Wheeljack is finally booting up.

   Wheeljack seems disoriented by the energon cuffs and the mess staining his lower half, not to mention the ache in his valve, before he finally spies Knock Out and the memories slowly fall into place. Wheeljack is at a loss for words until he finally settles for an awed mutter. “Pit of a frag!”

   “Agreed,” Knock Out beams in a way he hasn’t for quite some time. Yes, he definitely fancies this twisted Autobot. The Decepticon medic briefly considers allowing or possibly even helping Wheeljack clean up but then decides it’s best not to press his luck. “About our deal, Wheeljack…”

   Wheeljack nods distractedly. “Yeah, I’d say it’s worth it. The code is ‘Dancitron.”

   “Dancitron!” Knock Out barks a short laugh. “That was the worst club in all of Cybertronian history!”

   Wheeljack chuckles from the berth. “Tell me about it! Horrible music, the worst patrons, didn’t even serve high-grade. But, hey, at least it was hard to forget.”

   Knock Out laughs all the way to the Jackhammer’s console and gently types in the name. “I visited that pit-forsaken dive once and _only_ once. The tool at the door took one look at me and nearly fell over himself! That should have tipped me off to the caliber of Dancitron’s patrons but I suppose I was just looking for any excuse to-“

   The Jackhammer’s monitor flashes an angry red the moment he enters the code and Knock Out frowns. Something hisses behind Knock Out and he turns just in time to watch two panes of reinforced glass whoosh together and seal him in the foremost part of the ship. “Hey! What gives?”

   “Sorry, ‘Con.”  Wheeljack stands from the berth, tosses his open energon cuffs on the stained surface.

   “What the- how did you-“ Knock Out pounds a fist furiously into the glass in front of him but it barely even vibrates.

   “You think I don’t carry the keys to my own cuffs?” Wheeljack tucks said key back into a small sub-compartment just under his wrist. “Don’t know what you want with the Jackhammer’s computer but I’m afraid I can’t risk it falling to the ‘Cons. But, hey, it really was one pit of a good frag.”

   And with that, Wheeljack taps a small control panel just outside the sealed cockpit. A crackling charge leaps from the floor slamming right through Knock Out and drops him to the deck completely unconscious without even enough time to curse the Autobots in general.

 


	6. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out knows his share of tricks but the Autobot medic has experience...lots of it.

   “You nearly killed him!”

   “It’s a security system, Doc. Not supposed to tickle.”

   “So you offline the slagger then drop him on my medical berth? We don’t have the resources to be fixing up busted Decepticons, Wheeljack!”

   “So leave him busted. Or frag! The mech’s your prisoner, ransom him and get your resources.”

   “That’s not the point! You can’t just-”

   “Look, whatever. I’m going to go get chewed out by Prime now. When I’m done, maybe I’ll come back here and you can have another go. Cool?”

   “No, it is not _cool!_ ”

   “Oh! Hey, Doc, your collateral’s waking up.”

   Knock Out groans in response to the pounding ache in his processor. “I’ve been awake for some time now. Are all Autobots this loud or is it just you two?"

    _Seriously, like some old bonded couple._

   Wheeljack’s chuckle announces his movement toward Knock Out’s left side. Knock Out is not at all surprised to find himself strapped down to something. More unnerving is the lack of certain senses and systems. Weapons and communications are naturally offline. Knock Out recognizes the medical override code dampening those processes as the same he’d received when Arcee brought him in the first time, which must mean that grumpy rumble keeping up with Wheeljack is the Autobot medic Ratchet.

   No, the truly disconcerting loss is not weapons or communications but the lack of visual data.

   _So help me, if that Autobot scum Wheeljack fried my optics, I’ll tear him apart…fond frag memories or not._

   Sound is the only clue the ‘Con’s got to go by since his optics seem to be entirely disconnected from his processor. A digit taps firmly against Knock Out’s chest and he jumps at the unexpected contact. Proximity scanners seem to be cut off too.

   “Glad to see you’re still ticking,” the voice of Wheeljack mumbles almost softly. “You went down pretty hard.”

   “You mean when you electrocuted me?” Knock Out snaps in the white mech’s general direction.

   “Yeah...” Knock Out can hear the muffled scrape of metal on metal and wonders if Wheeljack is rubbing a hand against the back of his helm in a gesture as sheepish as his voice. “Sorry about that but I’m sure you get why I had to do it.”

   “We had a deal, you aft! One that I actually intended to honor!”

   “Wheeljack,” the other voice in the room interrupts with a tone steeped in disapproval, the kind of voice a creator uses to address a sparkling when the youngling has knowingly done something they aren’t supposed to, “exactly what _kind_ of deal is he talking about?”

   “Err, the scout’s obviously delirious, Doc.”

   “Sc-scout? Moron! That’s Knock Out, the Decepticon’s Chief Medical Officer.”

   “Slag, are you serious?” Wheeljack’s voice is much closer now, whispering almost directly into Knock Out’s audials, “You didn’t say you were a doc, Doc! How come Decepticon medics are so much hotter than the Autobot-“

   CLANG!

   Knock Out flinches as something metal clashes near his audial before bouncing against the floor with another racket. There’s a low hiss and then Wheeljack curses with enough heat to peel paint. Knock Out jumps again when Ratchet’s booming voice fills the room.

   “I HEARD THAT! Get out of my medbay!”

   The former Wrecker mutters and stalks away with heavy steps. “Fragging mean, old bucket! Gear-grinder! Good shot though…frag that’s deep!”

   “OUT!”

   “You totally need to get fragged, Doc.” The leering grin is evident in Wheeljack’s tone. As evident as the scandal in Ratchet’s responding sputters.

   Footsteps echo far away leaving Knock Out with the angry little exvents of Wheeljack’s annoyed ally. Ratchet approaches and vents roughly as if bending somewhere past Knock Out’s head is a horrible chore that’s been heaped upon a lifetime of indignities. Something heavy scrapes against the floor.

   “Scrap, that Wrecker’s head bent my best wrench!”

   “Did you…seriously hit him with a wrench?” Knock Out asks with raised optic ridges.

   “Yes,” Ratchet deadpans. “It would have been the welder but I still need that.”

_‘Cons think I’m moody!_

“I don’t mean to be rude…,” and Knock Out means it a little. He can live without a wrench to the head. “…I was just wondering if you intend to leave me blind for the duration of my stay in…wherever we are.”

   “You can’t see?” The Autobot CMO seems genuinely concerned.

   “That’s what I’m saying.” Somehow Ratchet's concern is...extra disconcerting.

   “Your optics are open…” there’s some rustling and scraping as the mech resituates himself behind Knock Out and fiddles in the open access panel at the base of his helm. “What the pit? Everything checks out…but then again…Ah!...here’s the problem!”

   Knock Out is saved from a panicked fit of hyperventilation when his vision rushes back in a disorienting surge of data. When he sorts it all out and gains a clear picture of his location…he wishes he hadn’t.

   “This place is a medbay?” Knock Out blurts incredulously. It’s just some squished corner of some cruddy room with weak lighting and like, literally one berth- the one he’s strapped to with what looks like bolted down strips of scrap metal. It's not even one of those cool berths that raise and lower and tilt and generally make life easier. This is a horizontal slab. “This is pathetic!”

   “Well then, I suppose I’ll just give you your arm back and you can stroll right out of my pathetic medbay.”

   Knock Out turns wide optics to the mech standing next to him. Even though he’s been in the medic’s presence before, the incident had been brief and a fuzzy blindfold had kept him from properly viewing the most reclusive member of Team Prime. Ratchet is broad and sturdy and a head or so taller than Knock Out but not horrifically huge in any way, classic medic build with neck armor from early in the war. Very early. Wheeljack’s previous jab about the looks of Autobot medics hadn’t quite given Ratchet enough credit. He’s good looking. Obviously not as good-looking as Knock Out but, really, who is? Still the mech is certainly attractive in an old-fashioned, gruff, field medic kind of way.

     _And white? That’s a brave paint choice. The warm highlights are nice._

   But Knock Out is only taking stock automatically, the Autobot medic’s appearance is not vitally important at the moment. Knock Out glances down to see empty berth where his right arm should be. “What happened to my arm?!”

   The white mech shrugs and pulls the appendage from a nearby workbench. “I can only assume you split a seam when you were floored by Wheeljack’s security system.”

   “ _So you cut it off_?”

   “Watch your tone! What kind of medic do you think I am? It’s detached because you also jammed it and shattered the shoulder ball-joint when you went down.” Ratchet goes from chastising to muttering absently to himself seamlessly. “Weld should be set by now.”

   Knock Out eyes the same spot Ratchet is inspecting. The weld line is faint, even when Knock Out zooms in just to be sure. Not that Knock Out’s going to compliment the work. It’s as much a Decepticon thing as it is a Knock Out thing. Or maybe it’s a medic thing. Whatever it is, Knock Out huffs. “I suppose it’ll have to do for now.”

   “I’m sorry,” Ratchet’s quips without a hint of remorse, “I save my best work for bots of worth.”

   “That’s medically ethical.”

   Ratchet glares but doesn’t respond for a moment. He turns to tap away at the medical equipment bedded into his arm and then pulls up a small plug, unspooling a generous length of attached cord. “What’s ethical is repairing you before questioning. I've even turned off the pain receptors around the slagged joint of yours. I'm sure _you_ never have to bother with such considerations when the enemy winds up in your medbay. Now, since my equipment is a little _lacking_ and you have an unusually high number of blown relays, I can’t properly scan you. I’ll need to plug in and manually check for damage. You could have ruptured something internal, you may be bleeding out this very minute.”

   Knock Out vaguely senses a wish in that last comment. He considers for a moment. He doesn’t relish the thought of an Autobot prodding around his systems but neither does he fancy finding out further down the road that he’s seriously glitched and unable to fix it himself.  Knock Out releases the lock on his ventral service panel just under his left chest plate with a huffy exvent.

   Ratchet nods curtly. He examines Knock Out’s ports and frowns. The Decepticon has a sneaking suspicion he knows the problem.

   “Let me guess, you don’t fit any of my ports.”

   Ratchet’s lips quirk down the slightest bit.

   “Just how old are you?” Knock Out pries. Ratchet’s glare says it all. “Got it. Veeery old. Luckily, I’m backward compatible”

   Knock Out scans Ratchet’s plug and then one of the ports of his chest transforms into a perfect negative of the plug. Ratchet snorts but it’s obvious he’s impressed. “If you can do that, why do you have a half dozen other ports?”

   “Just in case I want a couple of different mechs to fill my holes at once.”

   Ratchet’s intake sputters like he’s suddenly swallowed a small organic. Knock Out is highly pleased with his choice of words and the effect they have had. The Decepticon watches closely but, save the small lapse in composure, Ratchet is nothing but professional as he plugs into Knock Out’s port. Still there’s a bluish tint to Ratchet’s faceplates, the result of rushing energon.

   Some part of Knock Out urges him to ignore the signs, let the blasted Autobot do his work and move on with life. Autobots have proven to be a sneaky, deceptive, selfish lot thus far. Then again, it’s not exactly as if Knock Out’s going anywhere for a while without his arm so this is as good as any other opportunity for a seduction. And he still has no viable information to save himself from Megatron's vengeful streak. Knock Out considers all the information available to him in order to formulate a battle plan. The shouting, the wrench-throwing, the blushing... For a mech as seasoned as Ratchet, he certainly seems prone to fits of…passionate expression.

   _Not as if I have anything to loose. Oh, frag, might as well!_

   “So…” Knock Out begins seemingly innocent, “ what does the Autobot medic do to unwind?”

   Ratchet glares at Knock Out. Something that could easily be achieved with a blank stare is instead remarkably expressive on the blue-eyed medic, the way his optics dial open and closed and shift side to side betray a mind rapidly at work. Those optics dial to a fraction of their usual diameter and silver metal grows tight around the edges in distrust. To a social mech like Knock Out, it’s obvious. The Autobot medic (deep, deep down) wants to chat but simply doesn’t allow himself.  Probably as a matter of principle or something equally ridiculous.

   Silently, Ratchet goes about picking out and discarding the last pieces of broken joint in Knock Out’s empty arm socket while a deep medical scan runs through the hardline stretching between Autobot and Decepticon medics.

   “So uptight!” Knock Out whines in mock surprise. “Your berthside manner could really use some work.”

   “I bet you’re just a ray of sunshine during delicate operations.”

   “Oh, I’m a delight for sure.” Hiding his devious grin is no easy task as Knock Out stealthily reverse hacks Ratchet's hard line.

   “You’re a distraction is what you are,” Ratchet growls as he pulls a particularly stubborn piece of debri from the Decepticon's shoulder.

   “Oh, am I distracting you?” Knock Out purrs.

   Knock Out sends a packet of data through Ratchet’s supposed one way connection and the Autobot medic jumps when he registers a tactile brush under the plating of his arm. It’s almost like he’s been caressed but Knock Out’s only functioning arm is still bound to the berth.

   “How did you…” Ratchet stares first at his arm then at Knock Out.

   “You like that?” Knock Out grins. “Stole that trick from one of Soundwave’s files last time he came in for a checkup. I think he uses it to communicate with that drone of his but I find this a much more interesting use. Don’t you?”

   Ratchet hunches forward suddenly and grabs both sides of the med berth when a phantom touch lights the tactile sensors _behind_ his closed interface cover.

   “All it takes is a hardline connection and a willing partner,” Knock Out continues conversationally. “I could help clear the dust from your interface subroutines. Is Wheeljack correct? Do you need to get fragged?”

   Ratchet obviously struggles to ignore the continuous stroking sensation along his interface array. It teases the mouth of his valve and sparks along his spike casing at the same time. The Autobot shakes his head in disbelief and grunts before he finds his voice. But it’s not exactly the admission of crumbling willpower Knock Out was expecting.  “Why do you Decepticons always assume I can’t find my own interface partners?”

   “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re only compatible with bots of three digit serial numbers or less.” Knock Out laughs uproariously at his own joke until Ratchet’s statement actually sinks in. “Wait! You’ve been propositioned by Decepticons before?”

   “Yup." Ratchet vents forcefully before finally mastering his shaking frame with apparently nothing more than the force of will. The Autobot medic’s grin is, dare Knock Out say it, mischievous. "And by mechs with far more experience than you.”

   “Who?” Knock Out gasps not sure whether he was really demanding to know who has tried to seduce the surly medic or demanding to know who supposedly has more interfacing experience than Knock Out.

   “As if.” Ratchet snorts when he realizes he's used a very Miko-esque turn of phrase and steers his processor back to a much more professional place. Ratchet straightens to put a respectable distance between himself and the shocked, red medic. “You’re dealing with the master of confidentiality whether it’s patients or interface partners.”

   Knock Out has never responded well to being kept in the dark when juicy gossip is concerned and goes straight for the hardline between them. He presses towards Ratchet’s memory banks even as his mouth is flying open with the first questions to come to processor. “Have you interfaced any officers?”

   Ratchet rolls his eyes in much the same way Knock Out tends to. But there's a slight twitch to Ratchet's left eye that tells far more than the over-dramatic eye rolling. Knock Out latches onto the twitch with a crow of victory.

   “Gah! Which ones? Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream?”

   The Autobot medic is repulsed, confused, and ashamed...in that order.

   _Starscream??? No! This is too good!_

   Knock Out plows ahead like an over-eager youngling, pressing for everything before the shock wears off and Ratchet remembers to control his expressions. “What about Autobots? The Prime! Have you ever fragged the Prime?”

   Ratchet pulls a face that is part pained grimace and part horrified.

   Knock Out gapes at the Autobot medic for a moment. The firewalls around Ratchet’s memories are strong but that look… The ‘Con medic lurches against his restraints in pure excitement. “Oh, shut up!”

   “Keep it down!” Ratchet growls and hurriedly pins Knock Out back to the berth with one hand. "Somebody will hear you!"

   “PIT! You _have_ fragged Optimus Prime! Is he as stiff during interface as he is when he speaks because I’ve heard him on the comm. So formal it’s exhausting!”

   “No he’s…that is…”

   “Unmaker! Is he kinky? He is, isn't he? You _have_ to tell me.”

   “I’m obligated to do no such thing!” Ratchet snaps and his eyes shift as he debates whether to shut down the Decepticon's vocalizer or just smother him.

   “Is that ethical? To frag the leader of the Autobots and then not tell?”

   “What the- I’m his medic! I take care of him!”

   “I bet you do.”

   “Stop that!”

   “Stop what?” Knock Out asks in mock innocence.

   “Letting that perverted mind of yours twist my past relations!”

   “Oh, ‘relations.’ You are so old!”

   Knock Out sends another rush of forged tactile data through the hardline that leaves Ratchet feeling like someone has just smacked his aft.

   “And stop _that!_ ” Ratchet growls. “At least when I seduce some bot, I don’t take all slagging day getting to it.”

   Ratchet braces one knee on the berth near Knock Out’s thigh so that he can lean over the red mech. Knock Out's optics widen for just a click because...

   _Oh, he's really going for it!_

   The Autobot medic slips his hands between Knock Out’s upper thigh and pelvic plate. Knock Out laughs because that pleasure center is so obvious it's almost cute and decides to forward that tactile data to Ratchet- sharing the minor pleasure. Ratchet grunts under the assault but presses onward undeterred. Then Ratchet’s fingers sneak up behind Knock Out's pelvis to twist something deep inside and, suddenly, nothing is funny anymore.

   Knock Out could scream. He has every intention of doing so the moment an unexpected overload tears through him with an unbridled force that rivals Wheeljack’s security system. But with Ratchet’s hands both twisting and digging under his plating, the Autobot medic has no choice but to slam his mouth over Knock Out’s to muffle the outcry. Knock Out’s scream is really more of a tinny echo in Ratchet’s mouth.

   “…what…the…PIT?” Knock Out croaks when Ratchet pulls his mouth away.

   The Autobot medic’s eyes are flecked with static and his frame shakes with something that might be desire or, at the very least, a heady rush of excitement.

   "That," Ratchet smirks, "is what they call experience."

   “What? What did you even DO TO ME?” Knock Out has been through countless solar systems, seen his share of the weird and effective means to interface, but he’s never met a mech who could overload another just by twisting some wires and cables. The Decepticon’s look of stupefied awe is well warranted.

   An electronic crackle eclipses Ratchet’s comment so he reboots his vocalizer, covering the action with a devious grin. “Weird medicine. Stimulate the lines that feed the sensor net and pleasure centers of your processor and bam! Instant processor overload. Sometimes during war, you need to take care of a mech and you'd better make it quick. They don’t teach that move in med school.”

   “Where…how…you?” Knock Out wishes he had a free hand so he could shake Ratchet with the force of his NEED TO KNOW.

   “You pick up things when you’ve been fragging for millennia. It’s quick and clean. My secret weapon.” Ratchet brushes those wires almost casually and the touch has Knock Out clawing the edge of the berth in anticipation. Ratchet clamps one servo over Knock Out’s intake. "Try being quiet this time. Wheeljack would never let me live this down."

    As an act that Ratchet will later pass off as further demonstration, he tweaks the 'Con's internal lines again. Knock Out throws his helm back against the berth in an overload that’s almost more powerful than the first.

   “Frag, that’s perfect!” Knock Out pants into Ratchet’s hand…though it sounds more like “Fwug, das pffffffit!”

   And it is perfect. A practiced twitch of digits and Knock Out has all the process-shattering bliss of a third overload with the electrical charge that sets fire to his sensor net and vibrates his extremities but the onslaught of valve lubricant and transfluids that normally would have wrecked his lower half are miraculously still missing. It is perfect for quick mid-mission frags and closet trysts aboard the Nemisis, what with their unreliable locks and all. Knock Out slumps strutless and moans in appreciation of a master at work.

   “You appear tired, Knock Out. How old are you again?”

   Knock Out’s snarky reply apparently derails somewhere between processor and mouth because one minute he is thinking it and the next he is panting Ratchet’s name instead.

   Another overload simultaneously has Knock Out bucking off the berth and trying to think of ways to actually weaponize this technique! Primus! They're not just quick and clean, Knock Out realizes they're undeniably stronger with each subsequent overload. The energy never really leaves, it just cycles higher and higher.

   Knock Out’s vocalizer is completely out of the game, too backlogged with a queue of choked groans and whines. And when Ratchet laughs wickedly- yes, wickedly!

 _This Autobot is positively evil, a dark master of fragging!_  

    When Ratchet laughs wickedly, Knock Out digs his heels into the berth and vibrates with the amped charge in his body. This Ratchet is evil and hot as a nuclear reactor as he whispers that perfectly aged voice in Knock Out's direction. “A mech your frame age should be able to handle a few little overloads. Maybe you have an endurance problem.”

   There should be some reply, some defense for Knock Out’s honor but…Knock Out is just thankful they haven't melted through this simple berth with all the heat they're producing.

   Ratchet finally swings his other knee onto the berth and over the outside of Knock Out's far thigh. He leans forward to rub against Knock Out’s smaller frame in a half conscious kind of frag-induced haze. And Primus! If it’s only the Autobot’s own holy fragging abilities that’s getting him off, that’s fine. But Knock Out would like to think his tactile assault hammering through the hardline and sending touches ghosting all over the Autobot's frame has a little something to do with the way Ratchet groans and arches above. Ratchet's fingers twitch inside Knock Out when they're stimulated by a well targeted burst from the Decepticon. The Autobot picks up on the non-verbal request and repositions his fingers over those magical lines behind Knock Out's pelvis.

   All according to plan. It was almost a bit of fun earlier. Knock Out's reverse hacking and phantom touches had been just a devious game. But now, with Ratchet's mysterious move quickly pushing the Decepticon medic toward an almost paralyzing level of charge, the game has ended and the race has begun. Knock Out does not lose races. If he is going to overload into a complete systems crash, he is at least taking the Autobot with him. This time, Knock Out is ready. When he feels the subtle shift of Ratchet’s digits, he pinpoints the lines as they’re mercilessly rolled between the Auotobot’s fingers and sends tactile bursts to the same lines in Ratchet’s frame.

   Seeing as how Ratchet is too busy writhing in his own surprise overload to silence the red mech, Knock Out unleashes a twisted howl that echoes in the pathetically primitive medbay. All that charge finally becomes too much and it blasts back through the hardline striking Ratchet with a second overload. The Autobot CMO scrapes along Knock Out's plating with a grinding squeal and little bolts of charge lick across his lips. Ratchet collapses into Knock Out in a quaking heap and Knock Out moans at just the thought of his own red paint marring that white interface god’s finish. Primus, there's only one thing missing. Knock Out just wants to release his interface cover and let Ratchet pound into his valve! But those systems are locked tight and Knock Out will just have to add the spiking bit when he replays this in his fantasies for the next...oh millennia or so. He willingly calls this a tie.

  The Autobot medic sucks in vents like they’re going out of style and gingerly sits back to examine himself. Knock Out’s attack was effective alright but not quite perfect. Ratchet rattles with all that processor numbing charge, burning sensor nets, etc; but the fluids dripping down the Autobot’s interface panel might be a sign that Knock Out needs a little more practice with the finer points of Ratchet's technique. But the result is still beautiful and…

_Oh look, there’s my paint!_

   Ratchet fusses and pats at his thighs with whatever he can find all the while muttering. “I said quick and _clean_.”

   Knock Out is deliciously dazed and struggling to reboot rapidly offlining systems, slipping into a kind of half-recharge when a thought strikes him and he offers Ratchet a sloppy grin from the med berth. “Now _that_ was unethical.”

   Ratchet opens his mouth…closes it…opens it…then stoops to rummage under his workbench utterly defeated. 

   Knock Out smiles like a glitch and lounges in his bonds. He tries to comm Breakdown. Of course his line is still being blocked. Too bad. Knock Out really, really wants to tell the blue truck what’s in store for him. Out of the far corner of his optic, Knock Out spies his long-ago confiscated buffer on the table and doesn’t even care about the once monumental crime. The Autobots can have it. Knock Out now has a secret weapon that will far outshine his finish anyway.

   In the background, Knock Out hears the surly Autobot medic mumble to himself. “Slagging Decepticons.”

 


	7. Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out has no idea how to handle the Autobot leader.

   “There!” Ratchet grouses as he cuts off power to his welder. “You’re finished.”

   And in a belated mutter, “Thank Primus!”

   The procedure to reattach Knock Out’s arm should have been a fairly simple, quick operation. But in all fairness, the two medics had been quite thoroughly sidetracked. Knock Out flexes his hand and rotates his newly attached arm as he grins devilishly at the memory. Enough time has passed that the silence between both medics has run its course from post-interfacing contentment, to awkward aftermath (at least on Ratchet’s side), to palpable regret (again, Ratchet’s), and has looped back around to the quietly-feeling-each-other-out stage. Knock Out opens his mouth to suggestively ask Ratchet what other marvelous tricks he might know but he’s cut off by Ratchet muttering into his comm.

    “Optimus, he’s ready. Yes, I’ll…” Ratchet glances to Knock Out but immediately casts his optics elsewhere, “I’ll have one of the others escort him. Yes. Yes, understood.”

   “Rid of me so soon?” Knock Out tucks his free arm behind his helm and let’s himself relax on the med berth.

    “Not nearly soon enough,” Ratchet grumbles sourly.

    Knock Out senses there’s something there beyond the obvious regret about fragging the enemy or breaking medical ethics or…whatever might seem like an obvious cause for regret in an Autobot.

    _Oh, there is something juicy for sure_.

    The Decepticon medic is working on ways to dissect Ratchet’s vague but intriguing change of mood when chatter drifts down the hallway and announces the approach of two Autobots. Ratchet sighs in relief, “Perfect timing. Bulkhead, Arcee!”

   The two Autobots turn the corner, faces expectant at Ratchet’s summons. But the second the green and blue bots notice Knock Out on the lone med berth, their faces fall faster than a wounded Seeker.

    “What the pit is Knock Out doing here?” Arcee snaps.

    Ratchet waves the question away. “You can thank Wheeljack for that. But, luckily, Knock Out’s just leaving, Optimus wants him for questioning. Now, I’ve got a set of coordinates to deliver to but I, uh, can’t leave the base…groundbridge duty and whatnot…”

   The two Autobots must sense the deflection as well because they’re giving Ratchet the same sassy ‘oh, really’ look that Knock Out is. Ratchet coughs into his hand and straightens to give the best possible show of authority. “I’m going to need one of you to escort the prisoner.”

    Green and blue frames flinch in unison. Bulkhead suddenly finds the concrete floor very interesting, devoting his attention to it instead of Ratchet and Knock Out. Arcee takes an almost imperceptible step backward before glaring resolutely off into space.  Ratchet blinks, startled by the lack of affirmative responses.

   “Well?” Ratchet prompts after another pesky beat of silence and optic shifting.

   “Well…” Bulkhead starts and then stops at a loss.

   Luckily Arcee is there. “Well, we would but school just let out.”

   “Yeah!” Bulkhead blurts with visible relief. “We gotta go pick up the kids-”

   “-and Jack’s shift starts in half an hour-“

   Knock Out gets the feeling that even as the prisoner, he is probably the most comfortable bot in the room at the moment. It is utterly delightful.

_And why shouldn’t they be all out of sorts? Never seen a room of guiltier bots. Well, maybe at the odd overcharged orgy but still…serves them right!_

   Ratchet sputters and once again tries to argue the necessity for some other bot, any other bot, to deliver Knock Out to their leader. But in an impressive flurry of shrugs, excuses, and shifting metal, Arcee and Bulkhead transform and roll out at record speeds leaving Ratchet to stare dumbfounded at their exhaust.

    Knock Out whistles, quite impressed with the power of Autobot shame.

    “PIT!” Ratchet finally finds his voice and it thunders after the long-gone duo. He looks to the ceiling as he invokes the Autobot’s favored god and throws his hands up, gesticulating furiously to Knock Out.  “Primus! I have never seen such blatant disregard for orders. The moment Optimus hears about this he’s going to be- EHP, EHP, EHP! Bumblebee! Don’t you dare move a single bolt toward that exit!”

   The yellow scout, who has stealthily made it to the exiting tunnel during Ratchet’s mini tirade, freezes with a jerk. Thoroughly caught and apparently possessing more fear of Ratchet than the other two Autobots, Bumblebee can do nothing but slump with a put-upon blurp and a beep that sounds suspiciously profane.

    “Come on now,” Ratchet cajoles the younger bot, “Nothing to whine about. Just take Knock Out through the groundbridge to Optimus’ location. It’s not like I’m asking you to storm the Nemesis solo.”

   Bumblebee chirps in a hopeful *Could I do that instead?*

   Ratchet’s face clearly says ‘no.’

   The yellow scout drags his pedes all the way over to Ratchet and Knock Out.

   “Good.” Ratchet means for it to sound gruff yet approving, it sounds much more relieved.

   Knock Out smirks to himself the whole time Ratchet and Bumblebee go about removing the scrap metal bands holding him to the table. He wonders how much the two bots know about Knock Out’s mission over the last few days, if they each know Knock Out has fragged the other and if this ridiculous discomfort stems from the knowledge or the ignorance of that fact.

    _Oh, this could be entertaining._

   Knock Out manages to keep his grin in check before practically purring at the yellow scout just barely out of claws reach. “Thanks for not running off, Bee. At least, this time.”

   The scout stiffens ever so slightly and sends a covert watch-your-mouth kind of look at Knock Out.

    _Beautiful. If Bee wants to keep it quiet, then he must not be keen for Ratchet to know. Let's push just a little more._

   “And thank you as well, Ratchet. I was quite surprised by your skills in the berth.”

   After a fantastically scandalized look from both Autobots, Knock Out smiles and adds an innocent clarification. “The operating berth, I mean.”

   If looks could kill, Ratchet would be known as the mech who murdered a Decepticon officer with nothing more than a twitching glare.

   Ratchet slams Knock Out’s ventral service panel closed with quite a bit more force than necessary and the Decepticon medic yelps in surprise. Bumblebee produces a pair of energon cuffs from behind the berth and hands them to Ratchet. The Autobots are apparently not impressed with Knock Out’s pointed words, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop anytime soon.

   “Oh, I’ll bet I came in with those!” Knock Out quips brightly as he holds out his wrists for Ratchet’s convenience. “Yes, I’m sure I did. I recognize Wheeljack’s tastes.”

   Bumblebee and Ratchet meet optics and look away just as quickly. The seeds of insinuation are finally blooming into dirty, horrified realization. The level of discomfort in the room manages to rise admirably. Cuffs safely on their prisoner, Ratchet releases the last metal restraint and growls at the Decepticon. “Stand up slowly.”

   Knock Out does so and delights in the way both Autobot’s tense a little, as if Knock Out is the most dangerous bot in the room...especially now that he can chose to put himself within touching distance. Bumblebee’s cannon is half charged and pointing in Knock Out’s direction. It’s all rather flattering.

    “Don’t move,” Ratchet orders this time and plugs into the service panel at the base of Knock Out’s helm. A second later, Knock Out feels the medical dampener lift from his frame and processor.

   “You’re letting me walk out with all my systems online?” Knock Out asks archly. “What if I decide to jump Bumblebee and then make a run for it?”

   Bumblebee’s blooping protest seems half indignant and half frantically embarrassed, a reaction undoubtedly caused by the memory of the time Knock Out actually jumped Bumblebee.

   “And your Prime!” Knock Out continues after a chuckle. “You think it’s wise to let me meet him in some remote location with my weapons active. I might end the war with a single strike.”

   Ratchet snorts in a way that Knock Out finds outrageously offensive to his reputation as a Decepticon. The Autobot medic clears his throat. “Check again. Weapons and comms are still offline. Optimus has the codes if he sees fit to restore you to full functions. And don’t flatter yourself. In a one on one with Optimus Prime, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

   “Maybe it depends on the battlefield.” Knock Out smirks, tilts his helm toward the medical berth were the two medics have only recently molested each other, and delights in Ratchet’s spontaneous fluster.

   “Enough is enough!” Ratchet stomps to the groundbridge controls and waves huffily at the swirling portal that opens up. “Get him out of here.”

   Knock Out allows Bumblebee to gently prod him along but turns to the Autobot medic one last time. “Don’t be a stranger, Ratchet.”

   A final flirty wink and Knock Out laughs the whole way through the groundbridge.

   Bumblebee and Knock Out barely catch the furious hiss that follows them. “Slagging Knock Out!”

 

***********************

 

   The groundbridge emerges into a quiet, lightly wooded landscape and Knock Out vents in the fresh air with relief.  It’s nice to be out of that crummy, little ‘base.’ His Autobot minder apparently knows where they’re headed as he nudges Knock Out in the direction of a steep hill. On the other side, the ground slopes away in a wide valley. And in the middle of the valley, standing with a stoic grace that a bot can only be forged with, is Optimus Prime.

    Knock Out takes a long, appreciative look as they cross to the Autobot leader. The Prime is tall and trim but with a powerful chest and shoulders that remind Knock Out of why he’s been fragging Breakdown for so long. And that paint and gloss…Primus apparently has excellent taste because Optimus is one fine, polished piece of engineering. It’s no wonder Megatron hasn’t killed the Prime yet, it would be a criminal waste.

   As Knock Out and Bumblebee approach, Prime turns to acknowledge them. “Thank you, Bumblebee. I will take it from here,” Prime rumbles.

   _Frag that voice!_

   Knock Out might have a little thing for that voice.

   Bumblebee hesitates and finally surprises Knock Out by giving him a pat on the back that is… conciliatory? Supportive? The scout walks away without any explanation. Knock Out finds himself swallowing nervously as he surveys the Prime in a different way. He’s big, tall and powerful in a steady way versus Megatron’s stormy temperament and strength but Optimus must be physically well-matched with the Decepticon leader if their brawls are any hint. So the Prime is obviously a force to be respected. That might be cause for concern. And come to think of it, Knock Out can’t recall any stories of a prisoner interrogation lead by Prime himself. What does Bumblebee know that Knock Out doesn’t? The Decepticon medic has absolutely nothing to go on here.

   _…But Optimus is still hot. Primus! Those big, sturdy bots are hot._

   Prime’s soft, rumbling voice startles Knock Out from his thoughts. “Knock Out, I’m glad to see Ratchet could repair your arm. Is there any discomfort?”

   The Decepticon medic blinks, startled by the question. “In the arm? No…no, sir…no, Prime…sir.”

   Knock Out internally kicks himself for the pathetic first attempt at speaking to the hot Prime. 

    “I…no it’s fine,” the medic finally manages to spit out.  He swallows the ridiculous urge to say ‘thank you for asking.’ Some interrogation. It was only the first question and already Knock Out was thrown for a loop.

    “That is good news,” Optimus replies sincerely. They stand for a moment and it seems the Prime is somehow as unsure as Knock Out.

    “I take it you have more questions to ask me,” Knock Out prompts if only to squash the silence. “I doubt you had me delivered to the middle of nowhere to murder me. It doesn’t seem your style.”

   “It is not.” The Prime sighs. “Neither is it my…style…to abandon one of my troops to wander an alien planet alone for a month. So tell me why Megatron has seen fit to cast you out.”

   Knock Out is surprisingly, yet distinctly, embarrassed. “You figured that out did you?”

   “Bulkhead has relayed the information, information he claims to have acquired directly from you.”

   Unmaker! Knock Out can’t tell the Prime he is being punished for fragging Decepticons…nearly all the Decpticons. And now he’s fragged nearly all the Autobots too! For the first time, Knock Out wonders if maybe he’s a little too free with his interfacing choices. But he can’t help it if he finds pleasure and beauty in every bot. Knock Out checks the Prime’s long legs, his trim waist with those damn blue panels at the hips that seem to draw an arrow pointing directly to Optimus’s interface panel. Primus!

    Knock Out’s processor finally circles back around to the fact he was asked a question. “Lord Megatron was displeased with my performance as of late.”

   “You are being punished.” Optimus nods as if he was already fairly certain of it.

   At least it’s nothing like Starscream’s typical punishments- the beatings delivered by Megatron’s massive hands. Prime’s hands are large too but, hanging relaxed near beautifully shaped thighs, it’s hard to imagine them capable of outright violence. Though massive hands could be just as easily firm and strong without causing excessive harm, administering discipline in an entirely different set of circumstance.

_To have those hands touching my frame!_

   “Yes, punished,” Knock Out rasps. The size of that Prime’s frame… The inferred size of hidden parts of that frame…

   “…Knock Out,” Optimus is calm but concerned. “Your optics are unfocussed. Are you well? Perhaps Ratchet has overlooked something in your repairs.”

   “Oh, no!” Knock Out barks a laugh. “Your medic was quite thorough with me.”

   Prime is startled, confused. “Very well. Perhaps it is time to arrive at the heart of this discussion.”

_Oh, frag yes. Let’s get this over with._

   Knock Out is having increasing difficulty not staring at the Prime’s frame.

   “Knock Out, I am not one to pry into the affairs of those under my command but you must know that they have no reason to withhold information about a lone Decepticon who approaches them.”

_Wait. They’ve told? They’ve all told their Prime? How the pit can he be so composed knowing I’ve fragged his entire team? Unless…oh, Primus! Unless he’s ok with that. Unless, Optimus Prime likes the idea of Decepticons and Autobots fragging each other sensorless._

   “You know?” Knock Out thinks he may choke on his own tongue. “And you approve of... _that_?”

   Optimus nods and there’s just a hint of a smile on his face.

_Oh, frag! He does!_

   Prime shifts his stance ever so slightly, widening, relaxing.  “I am pleased that you sought us ought, though evidence leaves me to believe this was not your idea. I understand that Megatron can be merciless and quite inventive in his punishments. He thinks nothing of using every part of you as a tool to ensure Decepticon victory. As an Autobot, you would experience no such abuses. You would be valued as the capable and experienced mech that you are.”

  _Finally, somebody see’s the value of a good frag!_

   Prime leans down and Knock Out’s spark spins wildly at their sudden proximity. The Prime takes Knock Out’s hands and the sports car’s engine sputters. This is something Knock Out didn’t know he wanted so badly until right this moment with Optimus Prime’s massive body casting a shadow over him. Knock Out leans back instinctively to help account for the Prime’s height and leaves his own red plating open to wherever Optimus chooses to indulge himself. The medic’s optics close and he is so ready to savor the Prime’s touch on his face, his chest, his rapidly warming interface panel. With a soft click, Prime releases Knock Out’s energy cuffs. Knock out fists his hands, eager to feel massive black hands on his frame before he unleashes his own claws on the Prime.

   Knock Out is still waiting expectantly, practically on the tips of his pedes, when Optimus’ voice cuts through his anticipation.

   “For you.”

   Knock Out slowly opens one optic at a time to find Optimus’ hand outstretched with a tiny chip in it.

   “And what is this?” Knock Out quirks a brow ridge as he takes the item. It’s much too small to contain more than a string or two of code.

   “It is a counter patch for Ratchet’s medical overrides.”

   “…what?” Knock Out deadpans.

   “If you insert it into your ventral port you will regain function of your weapons and-“

   “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Knock Out halts the explanation with a wave of his hand. “I get that. But what’s the deal?”

   _Who cares about weapons and comms right now? Pit! Unless Prime's got some kind of weapons kink. Or maybe he wants the whole Nemesis to hear while we frag! Primus and Unicron combined!_

   Knock Out’s fans whirl and he almost misses the Prime’s next sentence.

   “You are free to return to the Decepticons. If that is what you choose.”

   Knock Out’s jaw hangs for a moment. Then it hits him. “Ohhhh. Or I could join the Autobots, right? I believe that’s what you’re getting at.”

   Optimus Prime nods affirmatively with that damn adorably faint smile back on his face. The well-contained enthusiasm is frightfully endearing.

   _I bet that’s what he’s like in the berth. Generous, eager to please those beneath him, or atop him…_

   Knock Out doesn’t have enough clues yet to determine the Prime’s preferred position. Will Prime suck Knock Out’s spike, lick his valve until he comes? Or does he prefer to let himself be taken, become a vessel for another bot’s pleasure?

    But Megatron pops into Knock Out’s mind quite suddenly and ruins the sexy hypotheticals. Knock Out tries not to wince as he considers the consequences of actually defecting to the Autobots. “It is a generous offer, Prime, but Lord Megatron has little tolerance for turncoats and I fear his wrath more than I trust your protection. In the interest of self preservation, I must regretfully decline.”

   “I see.” But his tone says Optimus is immeasurably disappointed. “I am well acquainted with Megatron’s imposing nature. And though we Autobots are few in numbers, we will protect our own. Is there nothing I might do to convince you?”

   Energon rockets through Knock Out’s cables at that silky smooth question. He can’t help imagining using the Prime’s powerful frame for pleasure. He wonders what that low rumble will sound like in passion as Optimus is penetrated or what the vibrations will feel like around his spike. Knock Out notes an internal temperature rise of ten degrees. He shakes his head like there's a scraplet bouncing around inside.

  _Think with your processor not your interface array!_

   But then Knock Out can’t help remembering the other Autobots as well. He feels his valve clench and he remembers that Optimus and Ratchet have interfaced. Which means Prime must know THAT technique and gods if he uses it… If Knock Out uses it…on the Prime…while Ratchet instructs... Primus! Or maybe Optimus has Wheeljack’s kink for domination. With a valve the size of Prime’s, Knock Out can probably fit both servos inside, twisting and spreading the walls until Optimus is dripping and straining his bonds with the strength in those arms. What kind of bonds would it even take to subdue the Prime who is nearly twice Knock Out’s height and mass? Wheeljack would obviously have to help chose the restraints. Knock Out would truss up Prime and Wheelack too- who would naturally be watching Knock Out hand frag Optimus Prime while begging to be fragged himself. And Bulkhead! Bulkhead could watch Knock Out frag the bound Autobot leader and mutter his approval. Knock Out himself would be rendered largely immobile by his own hands stuffed in Prime’s valve and Bulkhead’s massive spike taking the red medic from behind.

    Prime’s hands land on Knock Out’s shoulders. Knock Out gasps for a rush of air and realizes he’s panting.

    “What’s the matter, Knock Out?” Prime’s concerned voice gets rolled right into the fantasy and warped to Knock Out’s taste.

    _“What’s the matter, Knock Out?” Prime smirks as he tweaks Knock Out’s aft. Massive, black hands curl around the Decepticon’s inner thighs, pulling his legs as wide as his hip joints will allow and a lithe blue femme settles into the space with Knock Out’s own energy prod in her tiny hands. Knock Out moans and spreads his slick valve open with his own fingers baring the flashing inner nodes to Prime and their budding dominatrix. Arcee smiles a rare smile and dips into the fluids._

_“I don’t think he’s ready just yet. Do you Prime?”_

_“Not until he begs for it.”_

“Knock Out, you’re overheating!” Prime's borderline panicked tone barely registers in Knock Out's audials.

  _"Knock Out, you're overheating," Prime chastises. Knock Out’s fans kick on with a roar as his spike scrapes the back of Bumblebee’s throat. The scout is eager, sucking Knock Out as if it his pleasure, no, his only duty in life! They’ve taught the young one well by now. And while Knock Out is grinding into Bumblebee’s eager mouth below, Prime’s palm urges Knock Out to take the Autobot leader’s massive spike further into his own intake which will never accommodate the full length of a spike as grand as Optimus Prime’s. Fluids leak from the corners of Knock Out’s stuffed mouth and dribble onto the Prime’s polished thighs. The Prime is on the very edge of overload, ready to spill everything he has into Knock Out’s greedy intake. As Bumblebee sucks his spike, Knock Out sucks the Prime’s and it’s hot, it’s so hot he’s going to melt if he doesn’t overload right at this very moment._

    “Ugh! Will you just frag me already?!” Knock Out wails and practically throws himself at Optimus Prime.

   Knock Out’s height only barely leaves him eye level with Optimus’ silver midsection so he has to reach up to cup the Prime’s panel. Prime jerks in his hands and stumbles back, trips on his own feet and falls with a colossal thud to the valley floor. Knock Out follows hungrily, pleased that their height difference does not seem so astronomical in this new horizontal position.

    With a hiss of vaporizing water, Knock Out releases his panel cover and groans at the relief cold air brings his array. His valve calipers spiral wide behind the soft folds of his valve and lubricant rolls slowly down his thigh in a huge blueish drop. His spike pressurizes instantly and with the fantasies running through his processor, he doesn’t even know what he wants to do with the Prime anymore. Knock Out starts by running his hands all over the Autobot, feeling armored plates, savoring the way the Prime’s frame flushes with sudden heat and his face lights up cerulean.

    “Knock Out, please stop!” Optimus yelps and squirms as he pushes Knock Out out of the immediate vicinity of his interface panel but he stops shy of shoving Knock Out back onto his aft.

    “Oh, you’re shy are you?” Knock Out’s smile has long passed ridiculously pleased and is slipping into maniacal territory. He slides his claws into the gap between Prime’s thigh and pelvic armor and the red and blue Autobot arches violently. “Or are you only playing coy? Are you trying to hold back? To keep yourself from fragging me into the dirt?”

  Optimus’ frame shakes and his voice fritzes when he opens his mouth. Those massive hands grip a little tighter over Knock Out’s shoulder and send a shiver through the Decepticon. Knock Out grinds down on Optimus’ leg and licks his lips in a dirty show. “Don’t worry I’ll take excellent care of you.”

   “No, wait!” Prime groans.

    Then it hits Knock Out as he’s licking a fiery line across the Prime’s interface panel that this is every Autobot encounter thus far. The seeming hesitation, but the ready physical reaction. The way Prime says ‘wait’ but his interface equipment is pouring heat behind its protective panel. This is another Autobot trap!

    “You’re…you’re trying to seduce me aren’t you?” Knock Out whispers accusingly at the Prime’s closed panel.

    Prime sputters and seizes the brief moment of inactivity to scoot away from Knock Out’s bent form. Prime vents shakily. “No, that was never my intent!”

    And oh the look of surprise on Prime’s face! He’s quite the convincing actor. The blown wide optics, the gaping mouth, the cute little blush, the fine tremor. It’s as if he really had no intention of fragging Knock Out. “Oh. Ho. Ho! You are good! Look at you with your pretty promises of freedom. Oh, but I see right through that adorable face. You’re trying to seduce me! Frag me senseless and then turn me to the Autobot cause. You’re as cunning as the rest of your devious little crew!”

   “Devious? Knock Out, I assure you-"

   “Oh no!" Knock Out shakes his helm in violent denial while still remaining poised on his hands and knees. "I’m not falling for another smooth talking ‘good guy’ routine. I’ve had it with overly-charged Autobots. There is no way I’m letting that gorgeous spike of yours anywhere near me!”

   And yes, Knock Out has already thouroughly pictured it.

   Prime flinches as if splashed with acid.

   “Ah ha!" Knock Out crows at Optimus' show of surprise. He wags his finger at the Prime in a half-crazed fury. "Caught you didn’t I? You think you can pull a fast one on Knock Out, the master of seduction? Not today, Autobot!”

   Knock Out stands and slams his interface panel shut resolutely with a laugh of triumph even though his valve clenches and his spike is still aching. As he gestures heatedly at the Prime at his feet, Knock Out is one thousand percent done. “In the last month, I have been cruelly played, ridden to exhaustion and maliciously left overcharged, stretched to the boundaries of my physical specs, ELECTROCUTED, and your medic…ha! I’m still figuring out exactly what your medic did to me!”

   “Slow down, Knock Out.” Prime carefully rises to his feet, hands outstretched imploringly, face a perfect mask of confusion. “I fear I don’t understand.”

   Oh, he is good! Playing dumb to the end.

    “Then understand this Prime; keep your crazy interface-starved Autobots away from me! You can frag each other from now on!” Knock Out transforms and tears off into the distance leaving Optimus Prime in the dust, gobsmacked and confusingly aroused.

   Prime’s brow knits for a moment and then smooths in shock when Knock Out's ranting finally sinks in. Played, ridden, stretched? Prime tries and fails to keep his trademark level tone as he reaches out through his comm. “Ratchet! Gather the others and send me a groundbridge. It seems we need a review meeting on how to interact with Decepticon troops.”

   A long pause precedes Ratchet's sheepish reply. “Yes, Optimus.”

   There's something about Ratchet's pause that makes Optimus furrow his brow all over again, something that tells Optimus he is not going to be happy when he drags the story out of his medic.  “And send the children home, it is not going to be a pleasant evening at base.”

   Ratchet gulps audibly and sighs. "Understood, Prime."

   The Autobots are in for one pit of a lecture.

 

 


	8. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Here it is. Last chapter. So much love to all of you who leave kudos, bookmark, comment, and follow. I can be proud of my own work but I only continue to write and post because you've made me feel like my work is wanted. A bunch of new pairings mentioned in this chapter but I won't post tags and ruin the surprise just yet. Enjoy.

   Knock Out keeps his helm down, body bent in a bow so low it would be little trouble to bend a bit more and kiss the command deck of the Nemesis under his feet. Primus! Who knew Knock Out could miss steel hulls and purple lighting this much? Knock Out sighs just fantasizing about his own quarters…attached washracks…a real berth…with Breakdown in it…again, the attached washracks. The mech before him shifts his pedes slightly and Knock Out is instantly refocusing his attention outward, remembering the last time he was in this place, in this position.

   “Rise.” Megatron’s voice finally fills the bridge and Knock Out returns upright. The warlord’s face is blank, giving Knock Out no clues to his commander’s mood. Certainly Megatron does not seem surprised by Knock Out’s sudden appearance on deck. Soundwave obviously told Megatron the second Knock Out requested, through Breakdown naturally, to be bridged back aboard the Nemesis to deliver a final mission report.

   That doesn’t really help calm Knock Out’s wildly spinning spark. To be completely honest with himself, Knock Out has completely botched his mission for redemption. There’s a very good chance that when Knock Out pleads his case, he will be openly mocked and immediately dumped upon the planet’s surface for good this time. He’ll be without a home, comrades, a steady energy supply, protection from Autobots or the elements. No washracks, no buffers, no Breakdown. Knock Out’s gaze flickers to Starscream who is standing just behind Megatron, face already twisted in a snicker.

   _Yeah, still not desperate enough to ‘face that._

And isn’t that a step in the right direction toward a more responsible, selective Knock Out? The medic decides if nothing else from this misadventure, he can at least claim a little personal growth.

   “Get on with it.” Megatron’s command shoots right through Knock Out, making his knees weak.

   “Of course. Lord Megatron, I…” It’s almost painful and there’s absolutely no guarantee it will work but what choice does he possibly have? Knock Out continues with the most respectful and genuine tone he’s ever used in the face of the Decepticons’ leader. “Lord Megatron, I humbly beg that you allow me to return to my post.”

   Starscream scoffs. Even Megatron’s lips quirk in the beginnings of a smirk. Soundwave just stands there not condemning but also not exactly providing assurance.

_Yup, I’m fragged. Goodbye, Nemesis. Goodbye, life as I knew it._

   “What happened?” Megatron’s brows rise in a terrifying semblance of shock. “Did you forget your mission? As I recall, I ordered you to seduce an Autobot for information?”

   “Yes, well…” the red mech’s vocalizer fizzles out all on its own.

   “Did you or did you not do as I ordered?”

   “I…” Knock Out is drowning here and he knows it. He has nothing to offer in the way of Autobot intelligence, just a few really good frag stories along with a long few weeks worth of remorse and introspection. The ex-medic sighs and let’s his arms flop uselessly to his sides. “Look, I did seduce them, ok? I fragged every single Autobot and all I learned is that they are some of the most underhanded, selfish, interface-starved mechs I have ever encountered outside of Starscream himself. ”

    Starscream squawks indignantly but Knock Out presses on. If he is going to be cast back to the planet’s surface, he might as well say his peace.

   “I learned absolutely nothing of value except that Bumblebee is more devious than I would ever give him credit for, Arcee is not as uncrackable as she seems, Bulkhead is disgustingly soft and totally in the wrong occupation pre-war, Wheeljack is quite likely unhinged, and Ratchet is a…” Knock Out has to vent in for a second even thinking about the other medic, “Ratchet is an evil mastermind! And Prime is…well, Prime is a very good actor I suppose and far too eager to take in any strays and add them to his collection of deviants.”

   “Stop!”

   Knock Out stills immediately, spark clenched in fear as Megatron suddenly takes a tense step forward and stares the medic down with an intensity that lucky bots only ever see in recharge terrors.

   “Did you say that you fragged every Autobot?”

   Knock Out swallows uncertainly. If that’s rage in Megatron’s voice, Knock Out isn’t sure whether or not he should even risk responding. His shoulders hunch protectively in spite of himself. “…yes?”

   Megatron’s body stiffens so slightly that Knock Out wonders if he might simply be imagining it. But then Megatron’s claws curl slowly into fists. The warlord’s helm tips back ever so slightly and Megatron half exhales, half…sighs with just a little hint of a smile.

   Knock Out covertly checks his optical and audial feeds because surely that was not a barely suppressed sigh of pleasure coming from the Terror of Kaon. Especially given the situation. Suddenly, Megatron is waving his hand in a gruff and hurried dismissal. “Knock Out, consider yourself lucky that the medical bay has backed up in your absence. I don’t have time to let you continue to flounder about the planet’s surface. Return to your post and sort out the mess there. I trust that my leniency will only serve to remind you of how much worse your punishment could have been, how much worse it will be, if you continue to involve my troops in your distracting and disgraceful habits.”

   The medic sputters as he recovers from the change in mood that just left him with emotional whiplash. “Yes! Yes, my Lord. Thank you! I will be mindfull of my actions from this point forward.”

   “Then you are dismissed!”

   Knock Out jumps at the sudden force behind Megatron’s dismissal and scrambles for the door as quickly as he can without transforming and pealing out of the room. When he turns the corner, Knock Out runs smack into Breakdown.

   “Hey!” Breakdown beams. “It’s really you! And in one piece. How’d it go? You staying?”

   Knock Out roughly pushes against the blue truck’s chest until Breakdown gets the message to backpedal and they put a respectable distance between themselves and the door to the bridge. Satisfied that they’re out of immediate audial range, Knock Out sighs and slumps against Breakdown’s chest. “Yes, I’m finally back. Thank Unicron!”

   Breakdown’s chuckle rumbles through Knock Out at their point of contact and the bruiser pats his smaller partner’s back comfortingly. “Been rough without ya, Knock Out. Welcome back.”

   The red mech hums and nuzzles into blue armor. His claws slip down Breakdown’s torso to scrape the top of Breakdown’s thighs suggestively. “Are you going to show me how much you missed me?”

   “Whoah there, Doc!” Breakdown jumps at the light scraping but isn’t exactly pulling away. “Didn’t you learn anything from this whole thing?”

   “Of course I did.” Knock Out smirks as he arches his frame against Breakdown’s. “I learned Autobots are a bunch of kinky fraggers, I learned that you are quite valuable to me, and I learned a little something from Ratchet that we will both enjoy.”

   Breakdown turned that over in his processor for a whole half a second before his patent grin split his face. “’Kay. But, just so you know, Megatron’s order stands. I have to sterilize every place we ever get caught ‘facing in.”

   Knock Out’s laugh is partially lost as he presses his mouth to the plating just above Breakdown’s interface cover. “Oh, you poor thing, I’ll just have to make it worth your trouble.”

   “You are shameless.” But the observation comes out of Breakdown’s mouth much too dreamy sounding to carry any actual offense.

   Knock Out’s fingers work behind the blue mech’s hip paneling and he searches for a very particular set of lines.

   "I really did miss you." Breakdown runs a hand over Knock Out's helm fondly.

   "I know." Knock Out smiles.

   And then Knock Out twists his fingers and Breakdown’s roar echoes down the hall.

 

*********

 

   Megatron stares at Knock Out’s retreating form and only remembers to blink when the door closes behind the newly reinstated medic.

  “He did it,” Megatron mutters dazedly. “He actually did it? He fragged them all…I never thought…I never intended…”

   Starscream is equally awestruck. And also kinda ticked off. “But that’s impossible! I only ever managed to seduce the medic!”

   Megatron grunts his agreement. That had been a rather unsuccessful attempt on the SIC’s part but Knock Out had actually managed to frag every single Autobot on Earth.

   Soundwave startles the first and second in command by putting it best in a private message between the three. **_/Results startling, impressive. Method…viable?/_**

Megatron stares at the bridge door for a moment longer. “Unicron! Could it really be that simple? Just seduce the Autobot's into submission?”

   The three Decepticons stand mute as they ponder it over. Suddenly a roar that sounds suspiciously like Breakdown filters through the door followed by a very lewd curse. Megatron rolls his optics and turns to his second and third. “Shameless. Starscream, keep the ship from falling out of the sky. Soundwave, my quarters. I need to make a secure call to Optimus Prime.”

 

*********

 

   “Who would like to explain the deeply troubling encounter I just shared with Knock Out?” The usually soothing voice of Optimus Prime carries a frighteningly sharp edge to it as it echoes around the helms of the assembled Autobots.

   Bumblebee, Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Ratchet remain perfectly silent, vocalizers willingly offlined. The guilt bleeding through every single EM field is telling enough. Optimus presses two fingers tightly to his forehead as he feels his processor overheating with the sheer wrongness of this situation.

   _Primus, they’re all somehow in on this. It’s bad enough Ratchet was clearly implicated but…every one of them…_

   “I cannot believe that my Autobot’s have all managed to forget the express codes against fraternizing with Decepticons. So perhaps someone might instead tell me why you have all chosen to _ignore_ the Autobot code of conduct and interface with a Decepticon officer.”

   The silence is near suffocating. A sound that might be a vocalizer clearing comes from Bulkhead and every optic in the room shifts to the green mech. The former Wrecker’s hands shoot up in a defensive gesture and he shakes his head adamantly. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

   The others nod almost imperceptibly. Prime gets the distinct impression that his Autobots are deciding on a united front. Optimus lets a few harsh emotions leak into his own EM field as a warning. He doesn’t believe in violent punishment but that doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to make sure that this, whatever this is, never happens again. The bots shift a little but maintain silence. When it becomes necessary, Optimus turns to his oldest friend; the one he knows inside and out, the one who cannot possibly hope to deceive him. “Ratchet?”

   Ratchet dips his helm awkwardly to the side as he launches an exasperated eye roll. “Optimus, do you honestly think any of us would be foolish enough to-“

   Prime’s subtle glare cuts the medic off abruptly.

   Ratchet sags and starts again. “Fine. I may have acted without the most _thorough_ consideration of the Autobot code but it was purely for demonstrative purposes. Besides, we’re talking about physical needs here and Knock Out clearly initiated interface which I’m sure was the case with every one of us.”

   “Ratchet!”

   “Slag.”

   “The pit, Doc?”

   The medic waves away the groans and curses from his fellow Autobots. “Settle down and come clean. You think you’re going to hide it when there are less than a dozen of us living in the same space? Grow up.”

   Prime’s spark is still falling at the confession that Ratchet has fraternized with the enemy AGAIN when there’s movement among the Autobots.

   “Optimus,” Arcee steps forward, shoulders squared. “I understand that I violated code but Ratchet is right. Excuse my language but Knock Out was looking to frag.”

   Prime drags a hand down his face. “Arcee, you reported your only contact with Knock Out entailed the short time between taking him prisoner and his surprising escape. Please tell me you did not…interface with Knock Out while he was held here.”

   Arcee checks her feet. Optimus sighs.

   “Prisoners of war cannot give consent, Arcee!”

   “I got consent!” Bulkhead chimes in, hand in the air. “Real verbal consent. I made sure!”

   “Knock Out and I struck a deal. And, technically speaking,” Wheeljack shrugs, “I didn’t even do anything to him. So I guess I’m clear in the consent department too.”

   Bulkhead and Wheeljack share a victorious high five.

   Optimus groans. “Knock Out was banished from the Decepticon warship. If he felt in danger or desperate in any way, anyone could have easily taken advantage. Any situation you encountered him in was not a proper situation where he might give his consent!”

   “Does that mean I’m still good?” Wheeljack whispers to Bulkhead, “’Cuz, honestly, Knock Out had me at a huge disadvantage.”

   Bumblebee clicks a short agreement with Wheeljack’s logic

   “It is not only about consent!” Prime cuts in with a burst of anger. “Autobot code strictly prohibits interfacing between factions.”

   A perfect silence settles over the Autobots until they all turn pointedly to Ratchet. The medic takes in the looks and throws his arms up in an exasperated gesture.  "Fine, I'll say it."

   Optimus regrets this whole thing the moment Ratchet turns to him.

   "Yes, Prime, code clearly states there is to be no interfacing between factions. Well the same code also prohibits interfacing within our own faction,” Ratchet adds with a snark that grates against Optimus’ already strained nerves. “We're not exactly rolling in neutral bots while on Earth, or any other planet for that matter. So can you tell me where a bot is allowed to blow dangerous charge and flush systems that _can_ become a physical hazard if not regulated?”

   "Wow! Doc's got a good point," Wheeljack interjects as if hearing this all for the first time, which Optimus just knows isn't true.

   Bumblebee adds his two shanix worth with an approving whistle.

   “Why do you insist on holding onto that rule when there’s barely any of us even left?” Arcee raises a pink brow pointedly.

   “But we’re like a family…” Optimus tries to interject but is again interrupted, this time by Bulkhead.

   “Optimus, I’m pretty sure Ultra Magnus put that code in the books himself just so he’d have a rule to keep him and Jackie from fragging each other senseless.”

   Bumblebee chirps a highly inquisitive stream in Wheeljack’s direction.

   “Yeah, sounds weird doesn’t it?” The swordsmech shrugs, “But I’ve always had a complicated relationship with authority.”

   “Everyone, stop!” Prime’s voice cuts through the chatter like thunder and a ringing silence settles over Autobot base again. Everything is tensely still for a moment. Prime grits his dental plates before starting again. “I do not want to hear details but I need to know. Did you all violate Autobot code and interface Knock Out?”

   Over the course of several seconds, five helms nod very slowly.

   “Primus, help me,” the Autobot leader mumbles and shakes his head.

   “Optimus,” Ratchet sidles up to his leader and friend as gently as possible and places a comforting hand on the taller mech’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Optimus. Really, I am. And I know they are too.”

   Ratchet’s jerks his head toward the assembled Autobots who all project apology through their fields. Well, all except Wheeljack. His field can best be described as ‘eh, stuff happens, coulda been worse.’

   “But we cannot all be saints and martyrs,” Ratchet continues. “Some of us are just regular mechs. That doesn’t mean we don’t’ recognize the sacrifice you’ve made in a millennia long celibacy-“

   Prime catches Wheeljack and Bumblebee both wincing.

   “-just that some of us aren’t nearly as strong-willed as our Prime.”

   Prime’s face is not the face of an impressed mech. But looking around the room at the honest expression on each of his Autobot’s faces, he can tell that this particular rule set has been a point of contention long before Knock Out ever showed up. He sighs like someone has just rested the weight of a destroyer on his shoulders. He has actually been hurting his team by forcing them to live under a rule that was apparently introduced as an excuse for Ultra Magnus to control himself. There’s really only one thing to do. For the well-being of those under his command and to reduce the chances of another Decepticon fragging fest… “Fine. As your commanding officer and your Prime, I hereby suspend Autobot code section eighty-three, line five. I hereby lift the ban on interfacing within the Autobot faction. Just…do not let it interfere with your duties or compromise your judgment, do not do it in front of the children, do not do it in front of me, and do not tell me about it afterward. And if Ultra Magnus ever rejoins us, let me be the one to break it to him.”

   The back thumping and barely contained cheers that break out are almost enough to make Optimus regret his action immediately.

   “The rule against interfacing Decepticon’s still stands!” He reminds his troops firmly. “And as punishment for this whole Knock Out debacle, there will be absolutely no interfacing between anyone for the next three weeks. Understood?”

   Affirmative noises poke through the impromptu celebration and Optimus is briefly distracted when Wheeljack slinks forward to give Prime an enthusiastic elbow to the midsection and offer up some half mumbled promise that the Autobot’s will be seeing more of the swordsmech from now on. That actually doesn’t help the Prime’s sanity. But Optimus is pretty sure his troops all get the message and excuses himself to slip away to his room.

   Finally alone, Optimus slumps against the closed door of his room and growls all his annoyance. The moment Megatron finds out about Knock Out’s recent activities, Prime is in for it.

   Right on cue, the little terminal that has been scavenged for Prime’s private use flashes. He could put it off, but Megatron would simply take it as a sign of cowardice. The leader of the Autobots will not willingly hand that to Megatron. Prime takes a seat in front of the monitor and boots it up. As expected, Megatron is waiting on the other end with full video and audio connections. A predatory grin pulls Megatron’s lips tightly across his sharp teeth.

   “Optimus Prime! How wonderful to finally be having this conversation.”

   Optimus valiantly represses a sigh and decides to play dumb. “What conversation might this be?”

   “A conversation about our agreement.” Megatron’s grin grows almost impossibly wider.

   Prime grunts softly. “So I can assume Knock Out has returned to your company.”

   “Yes. Just now reinstated and already living up to his usual antics.”

   “Is he harmed?” Prime asks because after everything that the Decepticon medic must have experienced in the last few weeks, Optimus is genuinely concerned.

   “Oh, no,” Megatron replies with farcical sweetness. “A little worn out perhaps. A little overworked. But for the most part, your crew seems to have taken rather decent care of him.”

   Silently, Prime is thankful. This would only be harder if Knock Out had somehow come out worse for the experience. But as is, it seems Prime is the only one who may pay the price this time.

   “But enough about Knock Out.” The Decepticon waves his hand as if waving away the medic to get to the good part of the call. “As per the terms of our original agreement, you now owe me Prime.”

   Optimus straightens in his chair and stares sternly back. “Our original agreement pertained to Starscream. And, if memory serves, Starscream was unsuccessful.”

  “Ah, ah, ah!” Megatron practically croons in what he knows to be victory. “Our original agreement stated that if my mech fragged every Autobot stationed on the planet, then you would admit your ridiculous Autobot celibacy codes are worthless. Then you and I would resume our own physical relationship.”

   The Prime clenches his jaw at the offhanded way Megatron brings up their terms. A millennia of celibacy is not something Prime chose to do for fun. He is making a point. A point that he and Megatron cannot continue to be on opposite sides of a war and still frag each other like nothing is wrong. Megatron is not going to win this one. “This bet was made in regards to your SIC.”

   “Oh, but I never said ‘Starscream’.” Silver brows arch in triumph. “I simply said ‘my mech’ and Knock Out so happens to be one of mine.”

   “You banished him from the warship,” Optimus counters.

   “Only a show.” Megatron shrugs one spiked shoulder. “He never stopped being a Decepticon. He was never even cleared from our rosters. I’ll send you the unedited files if you require proof.”

   Prime’s brows knit in frustration. He cannot lose this. Not this easily.

   “Perhaps I should send you coordinates for our private rendezvous instead,” Megatron helpfully suggests.

   “Wait!” Optimus’ helm snaps up as something occurs to him. “Our agreement states that your mech will interface every Autobot on the planet. It is then unfortunate that Knock Out has missed one.”

   Megatron’s grin falters fast and a snarl works up in the back of his throat. “What do you mean he missed one?”

   Prime lets a rare smile stretch his faceplates and points a single finger at himself. “He. Missed. One.”

   The careful annunciation only serves to raise Megatron’s anger quicker. “You can’t be serious. He said he fragged every bot!”

   “Oh, I'm absolutely serious. Knock Out certainly went for it. And I admit, he may have had me if he’d pressed on but, as it stands, I remain the last Autobot on Earth to not know Knock Out intimately. Which means you have won nothing.”

   Megatron's face twists in anger and disbelief before he finally strikes his console hard enough for the image to fritz.

   “Forget the wager then!” Megatron’s snarl settles into something closer to a purr and he drops both volume and tone in what Optimus knows very well to be the Decepticon’s most seductive tone. “Optimus this has gone on long enough. You know my frame as well as I know yours. I know what makes you melt under my hands. I know the location of every sensor on you frame. I know the exact length of your valve, how much of me you can take inside you before and after each overload. I know the exact angle to make you come undone and scream my name. I know you crave me just as I crave you.”

   Optimus crosses his arms in a stubborn counterpoint to the sudden rush of his fans.

   Megatron catches the noise and the attempted cover and offers his most winning smile, the smile that might have made Optimus weak a few million years ago. “Optimus, it is foolish to think you can remain celibate for the duration of the war just to prove a point.”

   “As a matter of fact, I can. But-“ here Optimus cannot help but smirk “-I don’t have to. It just so happens that I’ve lifted the ban on relationships within Autobot ranks. It’s been some time but I seem to recall Ratchet was quite capable of all the things you boast with a few additions. I’m sure he will be more than happy to guide me back into the swing of things. So while I’m glad we took the time to clear this up, I’m afraid I must be going. I need to see my medic for a rather pressing checkup.”

   “Prime, wait!”

   "Give my regards to Knock Out."

   Delicately, purposefully Prime cancels the call and turns off his monitor. Honor still intact and the wager still standing in his favor, Optimus calls it a good day. But there’s still Knock Out. If he managed to take out five of the six Autobots on the planet, he is undoubtedly dangerous. The Prime will simply have to ensure Knock Out doesn’t sway any further arriving Autobots. Or better yet, Prime could sway Knock Out to the Autobot side. After all, if Megatron is willing to gamble for the right to frag Optimus Prime, you can bet the leader of the Autobots knows his share of tricks as well.

*********

   Knock Out scratches idly at his left audial. Breakdown shifts beneath him to look up through blurred optics.

   "Whatcha doin?" the truck mumbles as he repositions Knock Out until the red helm again rests against Breakdown's chest.

   "Just taking care of a little itch."

   "They say if your left audial itches it means someone special is thinking about you. You think one of those Autobots is down there wishing they'd held on to you?"

   Knock Out snorts at the gentle teasing. "You and those old tales! What I think is that you might have got some transfluid in my audial. Which means it's now time to interface in the washracks. Preferably the public ones. You know, to rechristen your sterilized work."

   Breakdown laughs as Knock Down drags him from the berth. "Yup, shameless as ever."

   Knock Out tugs a little harder to urge the blue mech along. “It's all part of my charm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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